#and maybe use this as an excuse to use the hellsite again

[jinhyun]

—sunshield.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: fluff, humor probably, established relationship, changbin and minho are two menaces in this

word count: 1.5k

summary: when the sun hits your sound asleep boyfriend's eyes and you take it upon yourself to block it and protect his dreams. regardless of all the teasing you will get from your friends.

a/n: thissss is a small present for the best friend i could've made on this hellsite 🤧🩷 you know who you are, u a real one. i took this idea bc Mother Hen™, but i really liked the other two you sent me so don't mind me if i ever write them lol. i hope you enjoy, and happy birthday!! hope you have a good one out of many many more 🩷

Sometimes you wondered if you were becoming delusional.

Staring at some guy for longer than it could be considered normal surely did seem delusional to you, especially when he was fast asleep and therefore unaware of your stare.

But, then again, he wasn't just 'some guy'. No, he was your boyfriend. And maybe that was good enough of an excuse for you to stare at him for minutes and minutes, at any time of the day, and even at night, as sleeping right next to him in the comfort of his familiar arms was a privilege you'd be damned to ever take for granted.

So, you stared.

For as long as your eyes were open and your neck didn't hurt from the way it was turned in order to be able to get a glimpse of him, you stared.

As Minho drove and Changbin on the passenger's seat turned up the volume of the radio right as 'Heartbeat' by 2PM started to play, singing along obnoxiously as ever to it, your eyes remained fixed on Hyunjin next to you. His head rested on your shoulder as small snores abandoned his mouth every couple of seconds, somehow —much to your surprise— completely unaware of all the noise surrounding him inside the car.

It had been a long day, in the best way possible. Chan and Felix had suggested you all should have a beach day together during their small break after promotions, and although Hyunjin hadn't been too keen on it at first —as he would've much rather stayed home with you, alone—, your excitement over the idea had been enough for him to give in.

It turned out to be a good call in the end, for you both got to spend a nice, fun time with your friends without having a single worry in the world, and Hyunjin still got to have you all to himself like he wanted somehow. He found out that day that sharing a towel and napping together while everyone else was in the water, hearing the sound of the waves in the background while the light breeze of them reached your bodies, could easily become one of his favourite things to do with you.

You woke up early that morning, making sure to pack everything you could possibly need throughout the day before you met the guys and the group got divided in two cars to head over to the beach — one driven by Minho and one driven by Chan.

You had gone with Minho in the morning, as you could use some boost of energy from the carpool you knew was about to happen in it. And it turned out to be so much fun in the end, that you and Hyunjin decided to go back home on the same car as well.

Right now, as Hyunjin slept beside you and your friends had their own little party in the front, however, you couldn't help but think that maybe you should've taken Chan's car on your way back.

Regardless of your concern, a loud laugh escaped your throat when Minho joined in on Changbin's singing, and you had to physically quiet yourself down by placing your hand over your mouth —the one that wasn't intertwined with Hyunjin's— not to wake up your sound asleep boyfriend.

Your eyes fixed on him for the hundredth time on your ride back home, smiling softly as ever when you felt him move his head higher up on your shoulder, after a small turn on the highway made him lose balance for a second.

His eyebrows furrowed prominently and his eyes closed tighter, making you realise only then that the sun about to set was now directly on his side of the car, hitting his eyes just the right amount to disturb his dream. It was also hitting your eyes, to be fair, but that didn't seem to matter in the slightest.

Without giving it a second thought, you raised your free hand up to his eye level, smiling to yourself when the shadow provided by your hand blocking the sun formed a small mask over his eyes and they visibly relaxed once again.

Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, you lovingly rested your head on his for a moment before you went back to making sure your hand wouldn't lose its balance and no longer shield the eyes of your beloved from the sun.

"You're so whipped" Changbin's teasing statement brought your eyes up to the rearview mirror, so they could lock with his.

"No, I'm not" you poorly fought back.

"You are, though" Minho joined.

"He's tired, I just want him to rest as much as he can" you pouted. "I'd do this for any of you guys".

They both laughed, earning a roll of eyes from you.

"First, Hyunjin would flip if you ever did that for anyone but him" Changbin pointed out with a light laugh.

You laughed under your breath, sneaking a glance to your boyfriend. He would indeed flip if you ever did for someone else even the smallest of things he considered to be 'boyfriend privilege only', and blocking the sun from hitting their eyes as they slept for sure was part of the list.

"Second, no, you would not".

"Yes, I would?" you couldn't help but sound offended now.

"Y/N," Minho's voice brought your attention to him. "You haven't even acknowledged Han the entire ride".

As if a bubble around you had just been bursted, you instantly felt a faint pressure on your left shoulder. And it was only then you realised Han had been sleeping on it the entire time.

It was only then you even remembered he was in the car, right next to you, to begin with.

Definitely not one of your proudest moments.

Your face right then must've given your sudden realisation away, for the two guys in front let out a laugh that turned out to be loud enough to finally wake Hyunjin up.

"Aish, guys" you called them out, feeling your boyfriend groan quietly next to you.

"Sorry" they both said in unison.

"What's going on?" Hyunjin asked with a hoarse voice — eyes finally opening by complete and being met with your hand hovering them.

"Nothing," you hushed him, pulling him back onto your shoulder. "Go back to sleep, baby".

He pouted, having realised what you had been doing all along and being unable to stop his heart from melting.

Instead of saying anything, as he was just waking up and still a bit out of it, he pressed a small kiss to the crook of your neck.

"I love you" he smiled, closing his eyes before he could notice the goosebumps both his lips and words had caused to appear on your skin.

"Gross" Minho gagged.

"Focus on driving" you called him out, earning a squint of his eyes from the rearview mirror.

"Ever heard of multitasking?" he bit back.

"Obviously she hasn't," Changbin snorted. "Otherwise she wouldn't have neglected Han like that".

You rolled your eyes. "I didn't realise he was sleeping on my shoulder".

"He's what?" Hyunjin jumped up — all traces of sleepiness suddenly gone.

"He fell asleep on your girl's shoulder" Binnie added fuel to the fire, with a smirk from ear to ear at that.

"Yah, Han Jisung".

"Don't," you stopped him before he could wake Han up, like he had just reached his hand out to do.

"But he—"

"Don't be mean" you tightly held his hand in yours when he managed to lightly push him off.

Thankfully, Han seemed to be in another dimension by now.

"And she said she would've blocked the sun from his eyes too, had she noticed" Minho added.

Hyunjin turned to you, with a simple raise of his eyebrow accusing you of having ever said such words of betrayal.

"He's my friend" you nonchalantly remarked to everyone in the car.

"And I'm your boyfriend," Hyunjin reminded you. "Han can get his own partner to block the sun for him".

"But he doesn't have one yet" you pointed out.

"Too bad," he shrugged. "You're mine".

Considering the conversation to be done with that last statement of his, he went back to rest his head on your shoulder — this time burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out a contented sigh when you rested your head on him.

"So you're just gonna let him sleep on Y/N's shoulder?" Changbin pushed it.

"Y/N didn't let me wake him up" Hyunjin shook it off, eyes already closed as his fingers looked for yours and intertwined them again. "But she's my sunshield only, though".

You chuckled, pressing your lips to his head and having him bring your hand up to his mouth to return the kiss. "That I am".

As for Han, although he took no part in the whole argument, he would have to either look for his own partner or learn not to lean on your shoulder when he was unconscious from now on.

Hyunjin wouldn't let this behaviour slide a second time.

#skz #stray kids #hwang hyunjin #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #hyunjin imagines #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #hyunjin fanfic #skz fake texts #stray kids fake texts #hyunjin fake texts

[https-cyber-slxt]

Holy shit! Your blog is an oasis in a desert istg. Finally some proper unadulterated femdom content on this hellsite. Thank you so much!

If your requests are still open, can I please get some sub!Dante content? General headcanons or just a little pegging for my bbg :) Up to you. And thanks again <3

P. S.: A word of advice: try to avoid more explicit tags, like sub!character or dom!reader, and use something more general like character x reader. I've noticed that Tumblr algorithm doesn't take into account actual contents of the post and shadow bans based on tags. I've seen some really outrageous stuff fly under the radar, because it only had fandom tags and nothing specific. Hope this'll help at least a little bit. You don't deserve to deal with this bs. Wish you the best!

hiiiii anon, I really appreciate these kind words, here just for you.

Oh and I'll absolutely give you your “daily” dose of pegging Dante :P

Devils Do Cry!

Sub!Dante x FemDom!Reader

A/N: I am so unmotivated (also it's 10 pm and I'm tired as shit, so if this is bad, I'm sorry)

“So... Who's Elizabeth?” you question out of nowhere as you pull your sword out of the Hell Caina's chest, causing it to wither away. Dante becomes stunned at the question, raising a brow at you. “Just another Devil Hunter, why?”

He swallows thickly at your serious expression. You prop your glasses up and wipe the blood off of your weapon. “A little birdie told me that you went on a *date* with her last night” Dante whimpers and furrows his brows before propping himself up properly. “Oh yeah? Well maybe that little birdie was trying to make you jealous” your face becomes even more serious. “Why would Nero wish to make me jealous?”

Dante stops in his tracks and nearly bursts into a sprint, damn you little nephew! “I uh- uhm-” his sentence cuts off as you grab his collar and shove him against a wall. “Don't lie to me Dante! What were you doing last night!?” He sobs as he licks his dry lips. “I'm sorry (Name), but I promise I didn't do anything, I just- walked her back home, that's all, and Nero must've thought something else“

You drop Dante and turn away, walking back to his office space with him not far behind you.

☆~ 5:30 PM ~☆

You lie on your stomach as you flip through the pages of the magazine, munching on the cheese pizza while doing so. Your fingers rest at the bottom of the page while your eyes fixate on the pictures, making you unaware of your surroundings. Your reading becomes interrupted as the doors slam shut, making you look up at Dante. “Jeez those two are a pain in the ass” he sighs while stretching.

“If they're so annoying, why are you friends with them?” you ask while flipping to the next page, placing your hand under your chin. “Well you know, it's nice to have some company in this shithole” He answers while walking up the stairs. You scoff and lift yourself off the couch. “Hey! Which drawer do the magazines go into?” you shout while fiddling with the book in your hands. “My desk drawer!” oh wow real helpful.

You roll your eyes and walk behind the desk, opening up the top drawer, nope, the middle one, nu-uh, the bottom one perhaps? Your hand grabs the handle and just as you're done opening it halfway, you slam it closed and grip the magazine in your hands even tighter.

A few moments later Dante rushes down the stairs, oblivious to your shocked expression. “Hey babe so, Morrison will be here in a few and- are you okay-” his sentence cut off as he stares at your grip on the bottom drawer handle.

You both stand there in complete silence, until you stand up and purse your lips, dropping the magazine on to his desk. “So how long have you had those?” you ask while side eyeing him. Dante stands there in complete shock. He lifts his hands up and defence, trying to think of an excuse. “How. Long. Have. You. Had. Those?” Now your entire body was facing him. “A-awhile it's that, I've been hesitant on asking you..”

NSFW Below The Cut X3

A bright blush covers his face as he answers your question. “Bend over the desk” you command while opening the drawer with your heels. “But Morrison-!” his sentence interrupted as he's pushed against the desk. “I don't care about Morrison, if walks in here that'll be his own problem. Now, bend over the desk, and take off your pants while you're at it”

A sob leaves Dante as he follows your command, taking off his pants and boxers while bending himself over his work desk, spreading his legs open and resting his chin on his forearms.

Meanwhile with you, you pull the strap-on out of the drawer, and you're not gonna lie when you say it's packing a decent size, 8-9 inches at least and relatively girthy as well. You notice the ring gag in the drawer and pull it out, it'll be of good use. You set the strap aside and lift the gag right in front of Dante's face. He gasps and looks back at you, you smile and giggle. “You know what to do” were the only words you said before he sighed. Shoving the gag into his mouth, you grab the straps and adjust it to your liking.

You reach back down and grab the lube out of the drawer. You grab Dante's hand and squeeze the lube on to his fingers. He looks back at you with confusion and you just smile at him. “I can't just shove this entire thing into you without any preparation, go on, open yourself for me” you continue smiling as he lets out a soft whimper.

Using his free hand, Dante spreads his ass open, allowing his fingers to slip in easier. He slowly inserts his middle finger in, soft gasps escaping him as he inserts another finger. He goes knuckles deep, making him arch his back, his free hand quivering and struggling to hold himself open.

His upper body basically falls limp as he starts to finger himself, getting lost in pleasure and completely forgetting about your presence. You grin and grab his wrist, giving him a fright in the process. You pull his fingers out and grab the strap-on from his side.

You tie the harness around your hips and grab the lube, carelessly squeezing some on to the strap, causing a little bit to fall on the floor beneath you. You stroke up and down, smearing the lube all over.

You slowly insert your strap into him, heavy moans escaping him as he grips the front of the desk. “Ah! nghhhh~!” drool slips down his chin as his eyes begin rolling back. You insert the entirety of the strap in him, the harness touching the skin of his ass.

You readjust yourself and lie on top of Dante's back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You short thrusts cause sobs to escape Dante as tears begin to fall from his eyes, leaking onto the desk below him. Your nimble fingers remove themselves from his neck and creep down towards his dick. Your free hand wraps around his leaking cock, pumping up and down gently.

Your other arm wraps around Dante into a chokehold, making his hands move from the desk to the arm around his neck. Letting go of his dick, you untie the gag move your hand back to its original position, pumping faster than before. “Shit! You're killing me! Just fuck me already! I need it, please!” Dante's tears roll down on to your arm along with his drool.

You unwrap your arm around his throat, causing him to drop on to the desk. You grab his arms and lock them behind his back, speeding up your pace in the progress. Dante cries and moans, not caring of someone or something hears him. “God fuuuck~! Yesyes! Oh you make me feel so- so good! Ah! Ah~! Nggggh!”

Your hand lets go of his arms, but like the loyal slut he his, he keeps them there as you grab his hair, lifting his head up and biting his neck. “Yes!! Oh fuck yes! Faster, faster! Fuckmefuckme!” Dante moves his hands to his dick as both your hands grip his hair and jacket collar. “I'm g-gonna cum! Pleaseplease! Let me cum! AH!” his begs and pleas turn into a nonsense of sobs as you rake your fingers through his messy and sweaty hair. “Cum for me” you whisper in his ear.

Dante sobs and cries as he releases all over the floor, some even getting on his desk. Quite sobs escape him as his left over tears form a small puddle beneath him.

Just as you lift yourself up, Morrison busts through the door, an unpleasant look on his face. “Considering that you two have stopped fucking like two rabbits in heat, just take this before my day is even more ruined” Morrison hands you a letter, not saying another word and slamming the building doors closed, his car revving up and leaving the area just as quickly.

You set the letter aside and stare at the fucked out Dante beneath you. “What to do with you...”

#fem reader #devil may cry #gaming #dmc5 #dante sparda #dante sparda x reader #dante x you #inbox #vi's answer ☆ #anon

[topguncortez]

I thought that this detox/hiatus/whatever the fuck would last longer, but I'm a glutton for punishment and can't stay away from this hellsite no matter how hard I try. might be my abandonment issues. . . anyway, conversation for my therapist

thank you all for the nice asks, messages, reblogs, comments. I read them all, I promise you that! I know that the good out ways the bad, and I should've just been the bigger more mature person and not post that anon, but it just struck something with me.

I know that I can sometimes come across as a bitch or blunt, I know that believe me. I can be cold and heartless. It's a trauma response, but not an excuse. I have been working on myself for years with the help of medication, several types of therapies, support groups, you name it, I've probably tried it. I am a work in progress. If I have ever offended you, or pissed you off, or said something that hurt you, I truly, truly apologize. From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry.

The internet is a truly glorious and hideous place. I have met some many people that I would give up my whole savings account to meet. . . and I have met some that I would love to build a Time Machine and avoid.

I love that the TG fandom has made me friends, literally, all around the world. I love that TG has gotten me back into writing. I love it, I really do. . .But things need to change.

The vile, nasty hate that not have I been subjected to, but so have many others on here, needs to stop. It's truly alarming the things that you are saying to other human beings. It is not normal, it is not right, and I truly hope that you seek out professional help. If you are praying for nasty, vile, awful things to happen to another human, you need to be seeking professional help.

And to that anon, I really, really hope that you are having a better day/night/whatever than you were when you decided to come into my inbox and be mean. You don't know my story, and I don't know yours. So maybe, you were having a bad day, and needed to lash out at someone. I have bad days too, I know the feeling. But what you said was not okay, and I hope you know that. I hope that you know deep, down in your heart that what you said was wrong and gross, and you are getting help and having a better day.

as for me coming back and writing again. . . I really don't know. Like I said, I got abandonment issues so I can't say "no I'm done" or "yes I'm back". I have been wanting to step away for a bit and just slow down on my writing. I feel like everything I have put out lately has been total shit, so I'm gonna take this time to just write and not worry about posting. I am almost done with this semester from hell, and I can taste the summer air. Maybe once I'm done with school, I'll throw a party and get back into the swing of things.

I really would love this summer to be like last summer. Where the dash was full of us thirsting over lil fictional pilots flying lil planes. I hate seeing drama. I hate seeing hate. I hate seeing writers and creators beg and plead for reblogs and interactions. I hate it and I hope things change heading into the summer.

alright, enough, rambling.

long story short, I'll be around, lurking in the shadows like I usually am.

I love you all,

-Grace:)

[clownblr]

If you sent us an ask about beginner clown care a little bit ago I PROMISE I just went to go answer it but alas. The ask was. EATEN. Thanks tumblr I love you the mostest :,0)

And it’s no trouble at all!! I love when we receive asks no matter what they are tbh I think it’s super fun!! (Sorry if this doesn’t make much sense- I can’t quite recall the comment you left since it’s been a bit since I’ve seen it and I can’t check thanks again my beloved hellsite)

Regardless, I of COURSE have some info about where to start in clown care !!

What do I need to take care of a clown?

I think one of the most important things to assess before taking in a clown is whether or not you have the space for one. The amount of space needed tends to vary from breed to breed, and some clowns can live in a mid sized home under special circumstances. That being said, however, this is often not the case!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (And should NOT be treated as the norm) Most of the time, a clown needs lots of space to jump and play and exhibit their full range of behaviors!! A big backyard is good space to hold a tent, which is something that many clown owners put up to try to mimic a clown’s natural environment.

TDLR, a clown needs lots of space!! It’s an important thing to consider so your clown stays happy and healthy while having lots of areas to play, grow, and enrich themselves.

Speaking of, clown enrichment is very important too! You have the space, but what do you fill it with? There’s countless options to choose from in this area- I’ve found personally that clowns at our shelter really enjoy ball pits (just make sure the balls aren’t hazardous!!) both to play in and to make nests in. Pinkee is really fond of slinkies and different wind up toys that she chases around the house, it’s very cute :o) I’ve seen some people go with different rope setups or trampolines, which can work great for certain breeds!! For others it can be a little dangerous though, so just do your research and make sure that the enrichment/toys/ect that your clown is using come from reputable sources and are safe for them!

Clown Breeds

And now onto breeds! (Go me for that transition!) There are MANY different breeds of clown. But which one is right for you??? Clown husbandry is an ever-expanding field, and new things are being discovered every day about these fascinating creatures!! As such, there’s soooo many varieties to choose from!!

The size of clown is important to consider when selecting a breed. Generally speaking, the larger a clown is, the more space you’ll need- so it’s definitely important.

Party clowns are generally recommended for first time clown owners!! Parties are what you probably first think of when you think clown. They’re a surprisingly varied breed, both in behavior and physical appearance, but overall they’re pretty easy to care for and don’t require any specialized care. Many of them are just looking for a nice loving home !!

(Side tangent but the clowns eggs have been developing and we’re fairly certain they’re party clowns !!!!! Exciting!!)

First time clown owners are often advised to stay away from breeds that require more specific care, such as porcelains or scares. Not that you can’t go for it, of course, if the opportunity arises, but please make sure you do your proper research and make sure you have the means to care for them. (I mention these two specifically because they’re very popular BUT they end up in our shelter a lot because people don’t know how to handle them properly :0(… maybe I’ll do a guide on them both in the future)

I have guides posted for the specifics of actually caring for your clown, if you need them- but I hope that this was helpful info for prospective clown owners looking for a place to start!! :0)

-Mod Grace 💞

Ps it’s the early hours of the morning where I am so um. Please excuse any funny typing mistakes you see ok byeeee

#mod grace #clown husbandry #clownblr #clown care #clown

[softsnzstuff]

Hellsite strikes again. Someone a long time ago sent me an ask about Streamer!Steve trying to do ASMR or something when he’s sick bc of course he’d try and power through.

The ask got lost in the void but I finally got around to the prompt ~ (Whoever it was, I hope you enjoy!!!)

****

Steve was sitting at his desk, microphone waiting for him. He started the stream with audio only and leaned into the microphone, whispering.

“Hey guys, snf, a lot of you have been begging for more ASMR content, so I bought a microphone and everything. I don’t have snff a ton of time this week, and I have cold, but I’m here to talk you to sleep I guess?”

He didn’t quite understand ASMR. He also didn’t want to do the kind where he sat there and made noise with different things. He settled on whispering into a microphone. He got to talk about his week and it felt more personal.

Eddie was on the couch at the back of the room, scrolling on his phone while he listened.

“I don’t really know what you guys want me to talk about…”

Anything!

Eddie ;)

How was your week?

“I can talk about my week. It started out fine. Eddie and I - H’iGTSH’ew - Excuse me, sorry. Eddie and I had to film some stuff for a brand deal coming soon snfff.”

Steve turned away from the mic to cough into his fist before resuming the whispering.

“I started getting sick last Friday? Wasn’t too bhehh HAESSSSH! ISSSH!”

He tried his best to turn away from the mic, but he was certain the viewers could still lead him.

Bless you, damn!

We should be talking YOU to sleep

“snFF, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t too bad but the last few days I’ve just been so ehhh so sneezy… iKTCH’eww! Hrd’ZIEW! HeSSHhuu!”

Just joined - is he auditioning for a cold and flu commercial?

Aw Steve you sound so sick

You don’t have 2 stream 4 us today bb <3

Eddie had gotten up from his place on the sofa and walked over to Steve, massaging his shoulders.

“You don’t have to do this today babe.” He spoke softly into Steve’s ear. “Come to bed.”

Was that Eddie? 0_o

COME TO BED IM

the relationship is public, what are you? 14??

“Ah shit.” Eddie clocked the chat and giggled.

“Damn m’by fancy new microphone…”

He leaned closer again, and kept whispering.

“You guys got lucky! A surprise appearance from Eddie! He sends his love and says you should hop on his livestream tomorrow afternoon. He’s gonna be SNF playing some new songs.”

NEW EDDIE CONTENT

can’t wait to learn every word of the song

Wait what time zone???

Eddie leaned towards the mic, “Yeah if I don’t catch this shit Stevie’s got…”

“Geez, You’re supposed to whisper Eddie!”

“Shit I forgot.” The older man leaned in and lowered his voice, “Sorry my bad.”

Steve laughed. “Amateur. Maybe one day we can get him to ASMR with us or something. Until then you’re stuck whehh with me HEH’ishew! HuTSCHuu! Snf HAESSSHIEW!”

Steve sniffled wetly against his hand as Eddie once again leaned into the microphone whispering,

“…Bless you.”

“Tha’gks…” the younger man mumbled. “Until next time, folks. Goodnight.”

He pressed the ‘end stream’ button and plucked a wad of tissues from the box on his desk, blowing lightly.

Eddie clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Alright buckaroo, you sound absolutely disgusting. I think it’s time for bed.”

#lmao this reads like a wav #I’m not mad about it tho #s/tranger t/hings #streamer au #streamer!steve #e/ddie m/unson #s/teve h/arrington #ask box #so sorry to whoever sent this #lost the ask ☠️ #snzblr #snz kink #sickfic #is there a sexuality for colds

[pan-magi]

Heads up that I won't have much to post for a while. I'm moving! Back home for a bit while I'm figuring stuff out (like not being broke). Before, when I mentioned my slow activity I left for a few years. Don't worry, I'm not planning on doing that. I have a backlog of... shitpost ideas, which I will post when I have time. If I have the sudden urge and energy to get some of my longer text posts done then I'll try to do them. Any edits and gifs though will be on the back burner for a while.

(That's the gist of it. If you want a mental health discussion and my general thought process on tumblr, read more if curious. It's more of the vein of "tumblr is an addictive website for me" than "this site is destructive and damning." jsyk)

I know I have it in my blog description that the blog is semi-archived. I have been doing my best though to at least post somewhat regularly. The rate for posting may not be fast per number of posts but for me working on them it is very time and energy consuming (yay executive dysfunction and undiagnosed ADHD woo). It doesn't help either not using Photoshop anymore making gifs is lot less streamlined (get all my necessary screenshots frame by frame and organize them -> edit each individually -> put them together with final edits to make a gif. All in 3 separate programs). My wallet appreciates the decision at least.

The thing is I put that in the description not for the lack of time I have to do stuff but the opposite. I have a lot of empty time to fill. Tumblr is one of the few social media sites I actually use and even with the ability to curate your dash (maybe in part because of it), it is easy for tumblr to be addictive without noticing it. That's with me not bothering with the app. I do check a lot with the mobile browser though. I knew with my attention span and how I tend to do or not get things done that being consistently active would not be the best for me personally. Not bad, per say, but not great.

I love you all. It's been great to see a few of my older followers still interact with my posts from time to time. It's nice to see new ones and the Magi fandom in general getting new people coming in, maybe just for the tumblr side or maybe new altogether, when the series has been complete for years. When I say tumblr is not good for me, I don't mean you. Lots of love for everyone /platonically, my aroace ass wants to clarify and add on a giant thank you for no aphobic hate by anyone here either. I would not have trusted to come out on tumblr even if I had my identity figured out when I was active before.

I do want to keep people satisfied. Analytics shouldn't matter on this hellsite, and they don't, not really. I don't care about what the number is but seeing any notes on my posts is a quick dopamine rush. "Yay, I made someone smile." If I have a free moment, I'm like "I should check tumblr," or "I should work on post for blog." I enjoy what I make and enjoy doing it. However, it's become more attempting to be active and getting something out there despite saying I will manage juggling all sorts of different stuff better. I'm not doing other recreational stuff I want to do. I'm behind on games, movies, books, creative shit outside of tumblr, watching Magi for at least the fifth time... If I have a free moment I'm "work on tumblr post."

It's dumb. I should be able to manage shit better. Again, ADHD. Or maybe it's something else. IDFK.

All this to say that I'm taking the excuse of moving to force myself out of the tumblr sphere. I won't have the time or energy to get larger time-consuming posts done. I might as well focus on something else when I have the opportunity.

I am not planning on disappearing. I do like it here. Stayed too long at the spa though and need to get out and get cool, fresh air. I have short, borderline/actual shitposts I want to get done, as mentioned up top. One may be up in the next week. Who knows though? I don't. What I do know is that if I post something over the summer it will be because it is something I want to get done, when I want it to get done. No rushing myself pointlessly. It will be little things though. Bigger edits and gifs aren't hard yet tedious and draining when I'll be buried in boxes and working on home repairs for the immediate future.

Everyone take care of yourselves out there. If you read all this, thanks! Now, I've spent over an hour working on this when it was supposed to take me 15-20 minutes, and I need to sleep lol.

#update post #long post #idk if i will wake up in several hours and be like ahh i shared too much #and edit and delay it for another day or so #it's happened more times than i can count honestly #most of my posts go on queue for the day after i finish them #to stop any last minute regrets and second guessing to get out there haha #update: yup lmao but only sleep-deprived mistakes #have enough time to still post today too

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 357

The Star Beast

“The Star Beast”

Plot Description: the Doctor lands in London to find an old friend, a new enemy, and aliens wreaking havoc

I’M SO EXCITED!!!!!!!

I get we have to do this recap opening for new comers or whatever, but DID WE HAVE TO???

God, they miss each other so much. And it’s nice to have these three episodes of (potential) closure for them after seeing two other companions get closure from their Doctors last time

Am I mad FOR Ncuti that the Doctor didn’t go from Jodie to him? Yes. But man…….it’s hard to be mad to see David as the Doctor again

Of course the first person he runs into and tries to help IS Donna…and then tries to back out of helping because what if she remembers him?

Of COURSE Donna is continuing her streak of missing big alien happenings in London 💀

The nostalgia!!! The first of likely more than a few Allons-y’s!!! ❤️❤️

Donna’s daughter Rose also got Donna’s last name. I’m a Donna Noble fan til I die. She gave away nearly ALL her lottery winnings??!

Ohhhh Donna’s mom vehemently denying the existence of spaceships (…one’s not made here) to protect Donna 😭

Fuck yes!! Donna being a trans ally for her daughter l, being the kind of loving, affirming parent she deserves. Donna’s mom is imperfect but trying

YOU LOST YOUR BEST FRIENNNNNND, DONNA!! That’s what you lie awake at night thinking should be there in your life

I know the meep is supposedly super dangerous but it’s SO SO SO SO CUTE

SINCE WHEN CAN THE SONIC SCREWDRIVER MAKE PROJECTIONS

He CALLED DONNA HIS BEST FRIEND AND ACTUALLY SAID HE LOVES HER!!! You know what that is? Growth

All these seasons and I think this is the first time I’ve seen a young but still adult actor in a wheelchair. Good that it’s happened, took too long…and took too long for me to realize that

Meep talks like Gollum but us still so cute

Oh no oh no oh no oh no…I can’t believe I’m about to say “poor Sylvia Noble,” but poor Sylvia!! She’s got too many crises to handle that are really just one, and she’s NOT DOING IT WELL AT ALL

How many alien races are looking for this meep?!?!

Nooooooooo because watching this ON BERNARD CRIBBINS’S BIRTHDAY KNOWING HE IS NOW DEAD but I swear to all that is good, if this is another “great big outer space dumbo” moment. Donna just said Wilf “isn’t with us anymore,” and the Doctor’s gonna go waxing poetic…he just doesn’t live with the family anymore, right? He’s in a retirement home or something??

I was right. And both Donna and Sylvia called him an idiot for it 💀

Not to say poor Sylvia again, but like…their home is now being attacked and invaded by two different sets of aliens (well, one is humans being possessed by something alien), and she just wants to keep her daughter alive!!! But she keeps saying all this doesn’t exist. There’s no way to deny it now

Look, I’ll overlook the slightly hamfisted “did you assume the meep’s pronouns?” But I cannot abide by the sonic screwdriver 3D printing a barrier to protect the group from all the blasts happening in this house

You know the movie Cats Don’t Dance? The meep just took a turn more drastically evil than Darla

I mean…if you’ve never heard of the meep, you would one hundred percent fall for its cuteness

Donna’s heart is so good. She gave away her lottery money because it was a way she could help people living in danger, pain, and fear

Excuse me?? Did you just say “sounds like the kind of thing you would do”?? Like she’s starting to remember the Doctor? Maybe???

I kind of wish the meep had kept its cute docile demeanor while still being super evil. That would have been a little more interesting, but I recognize this is not a creature of my creation

SHE CALLED HIM THE DOCTOR

I love that he thinks telling Donna she can’t get involved actually means anything, actually means she won’t. You traveled with her before. She cannot be told no

Omgggg Donna’s “okay” when the Doctor told her that they could save London together but it would mean she would die. Like, on one hand, believable that Donna would be okay with dying to save her daughter, but imagine the pain of the lengths Sylvia has gone to for 15 years to keep HER daughter safe and alive.

He’s waking her like a sleeper agent?? Like the Winter Soldier??

Pffffffffffft, she’s so mad at himmmmmmm for being the inspiration for giving away all her lottery moneyyyyyy I’m dead

Fuck, Donna is so cool. Earlier sh said if anyone gave her daughter trouble she would DESCEND. And as she ruins the meep’s plans to destroy London she just yells “DONNA NOBLE IS DESCENDING,” explosions behind her and everything

Oh! Hello Rose!!

Wait…wait…wait…are they trying to say that the metacrisis of the Doctor Donna would eventually make her daughter transgender???? The implication does seem to be there (I can’t wait to unblock the Doctor Who tag)

She also passed down some of her memories of the Doctor and part of what made her Doctor Donna onto Rose…that part does kind of seem very wibbly wobbly biology

And they’re just able to let go of the metacrisis energy or whatever?? I mean, they had to get around it somehow to be able to do two more episodes and I’m glad Donna and Rose did it and not the Doctor…but I can’t help but feel like there could have been a more interesting way. I dunno…

Donna’s husband is so chill. I’m glad she found him

Ok I was gonna be a party pooper about the all white interior for the TARDIS but it’s got color changing lights which is cool

What a heartfelt conversation cut short by Donna spilling coffee in the control center of the TARDIS, making it go haywire, taking them WHO EVEN KNOWS WHERE

Ok Disney+…just because I watch ONE show with a man with some magical powers and artifacts with the title Doctor also starring a character who is a strongwillled red haired woman does not mean I want to watch Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

[signofthestriking]

What's A Hellsite?

(I'm writing one-shots tied to my bigger OC-driven AU, which you can check out here. Hoping this is a good start.)

May 19th, Age 714. Noon. The light of the afternoon sun streamed through the dusty library, Maize's eyes darting about as she stepped inside. Library. Someone in this village had told her to find this place. She had stopped them and asked if they had ever heard of Saiyans. After all, Master Limax knew about them. But the people in this village didn't know a thing, and the human she'd talked to had told her to find the library. 

Maize had never seen a library before. She'd never seen the human village up close before, long straying from their cities. Her heart raced even being here. Even reminding herself that he wasn't here, that there couldn't be any harm in breaking this one little rule if he never found out, Maize looked over her shoulder every few seconds. She never saw him. With a sigh, Maize passed by the front desk and wandered into the shelves.

It struck her that she had no idea where to start looking. 

The young girl started at one end and scanned each book for the word "Saiyan", which never came. She checked a second shelf with the same results. Maybe if she read all the books, she'd find something. How long would that take? Maize wasn't sure, as she hadn't read that many books before. Aside from the ones Master Limax had gotten to teach her how to read, she didn't have any at home. Maize's hands traced over the spines, and as she searched to no avail, her mind began to wander.

'I wonder what's in these… Cookbooks? Oh, maybe all the books here are about food.' She realized. '...It smells nice here. But I feel like I'm about to—'

Just then, Maize sneezed. So dusty. Sniffling, she turned around a corner and gasped when she met eyes with a stranger. An older woman in a pencil skirt and a blue blouse, with round glasses connected by a thin chain. Maize quickly looked away, staying silent. Maybe the woman wanted nothing to do with her.

"Are you looking for something?" The woman asked. "...Saiyans."  "Um, excuse me?" Maize pointed to herself. "Me. I'm a Saiyan." "Oh, um, okay...." The woman nodded, trailing off a bit. "Is there a book you're looking for?" "One about Saiyans." "Sayings?" "No… Sai-yans." Maize restated. "Someone in the village said to come here for books if I wanted to learn about things." The woman paused, before going on. "Well… Are your parents around?" "My parents are dead."

The woman covered her mouth. Resuming her search, Maize moved onto a different shelf. 'Annexation of Yahhoy For People In A Hurry'. Yahhoy. That was a new name. What did 'annexation' mean, anyway? Maybe she could read it later. But she moved on, and on, and on, until she'd searched too many shelves to count. Her eyes began to ache. How could there be books about so many things, but not one about Saiyans? 

Turning another corner, Maize found herself down the hall from the front desk. The same woman sat hunched over her phone, covering her mouth with her hand as she spoke. When she noticed Maize, she quickly looked up with a smile.

"Did you need something?" She asked. "No." "Find what you were looking for?" "No." The woman bit her lip, before responding. "Well, um… You could try the computer, if you'd like!" "What's a computer?"

Maize followed the woman's lead down the hall again, to a desk with an odd-looking box sitting on it. She tilted her head. The woman pressed a few buttons and pulled up a chair, gesturing for Maize to sit. As she did, the display flickered on. Maize poked tentatively at the keyboard, scanning the buttons. What was this for? 

"Look up whatever you're searching for, okay?" The woman told her. "I'm sure you'll find it." "What is this?" Maize asked. "A computer. You've never seen one before?" "No." "Oh. Well, use the keyboard to type. And use this mouse to move around." The woman explained, pointing out some of the keys and showing Maize how to use the mouse, before stepping away. "You'll get the hang of it!"

Maize turned her attention back to the display, the flickering light making her eyes water. A window sat idly open, an empty search bar waiting patiently. She'd never seen anything like it before. Maize poked at the keys with letters, seeing them appear on the screen. Her eyes lit up. That's how this worked! Remembering the button that deleted things, she cleared the bar and typed in "saiyan", before hitting the bigger button labeled 'enter'. Most of the buttons remained unknown, and Maize resisted the urge to press them as the search results appeared.

Her brow furrowed at a meager gathering of results, using the mouse to click on the various links as the woman had instructed. One took her to a page of oversaturated colors and unreadable text. She could barely look at it, let alone search through it for knowledge of the Saiyans, if it even contained such a thing. Another link led to a nearly-blank page marked only with the numbers 404. What was that supposed to mean? Maize pouted. Wasn't this computer supposed to answer her questions?

It had been all she could think about for the past few weeks, ever since she'd been left on her own. There had been a lot on her mind for months, every day, and this had been something she could finally dwell on for a little while again. She could stare into the sky and dream of what her people could have been. What they could be doing in that very moment. Were the Saiyans traveling the stars? Or were they living simple lives on islands, like her? Limax wouldn't tell her, but he'd never forbidden her from seeking answers on her own. Right? Not that she could remember. He did say she was one of the only ones here, though. But that meant there were others, right? 

Maize realized she had yet to click a third result. It led to a page framed with dark blue, a string of text laid out in front of her. But she could actually read it, and that was more than the last two entries could say. 

kawaii-dipshit, 12hrs ago Gotta love it when your parents refuse to listen to you even for a second  #vent post  #idk don't look at this kawaii-dipshit, 11hrs ago He did NOT just say "it's not ladylike" MOTHERFUCKER THERES TWO GIRLS IN MY CLASS THAT GO TO TAEKWONDO LESSONS HOW CAN YOU BE SO DUMB kawaii-dipshit, 8hrs ago Okay but what I don't get is how he really acts like there ain't anything weird about what he's saying cause it's all obviously bullshit. I mean does he actually think I'm gonna ignore the fact that I'm a saiyan too or something? Like what the fuck!!! It'd be so nice if you could just be open to your kid about what you're so fuckin scared of but no, let's just pretend like it's all okay. Sick of this shit!    #dont even know why I'm so mad about it today but fuck it

Maize tilted her head. This person was a Saiyan, too? What even was this place, though? And who was this? Someone had to have written this. Like a book, but on a glowing screen framed by dark blue borders. Maize didn't know the words for it, but as she searched about the screen, her mouse hovered over the image next to Kawaii Dipshit's name, and she instinctively clicked on it. But now, faced with a strange profile and an array of buttons to click on, Maize didn't know which one to press next.

'...This one's got a little green dot.' She noticed. 'Maybe that's something special.'

The button triggered a little pop-up. Register? What did that mean? Getting out of her chair, Maize finally returned to the front desk, seeing the woman still sitting there. She greeted the young Saiyan with a smile, glancing at the door every now and then. 

"Everything okay?" She asked. "I, um… I made a few calls, and someone will be here to pick you up soon." Maize ignored that. "I need help." "With what?"

Leading her back to the computer, Maize pointed at the screen and explained how she had gotten there, sitting back in the chair. The woman took the mouse and progressed through the pop-up, having Maize type a few things in the process. She had to pick a name. She had never picked a name before. But it couldn't be her real name, according to the instructions. What would make a good one? Maize had an idea, hastily typing it in and completing the registration process.

It was then that she realized the misspelling of her new name. She had chosen "monkey". Something Limax had called her a couple of times. Earth had monkeys of its own, and Maize always thought they were interesting creatures. So she'd picked that as her new username. But she'd forgotten a letter, leaving it as "monke". Oh, well. It wasn't the end of the world, and she had no idea how to fix it anyway.

Finally, as the woman returned to her desk once more, Maize realized she could finally talk to this other Saiyan. As she thought of something to say, she faintly heard the woman speaking in the background.

"...Yes, she's still here. Can someone please pick her up? I can't leave a child all alone… We close in half an hour, just send someone. She said her parents were dead. I, I don't know what else to do."

Who could she be talking to? Maize didn't know, and she didn't see any need to dwell on it. She could leave on her own when she was done speaking with this other Saiyan, anyway. And so, turning her attention back to the screen, Maize typed out her greeting.

monke: hello monke: are you a saiyan too

*****

Lunch couldn't arrive fast enough. Konnie had begun to slip into a fast-paced dream involving pillows and motorcycles until she heard the sound of classmates gathering their things. Oh, Human Anatomy was done already? She had zoned out the whole time. Grabbing her books, Konnie hurried to her locker to grab her lunch. More like a snack than a real meal for her, but during the school year, that was lunch. 

Konnie's tail shifted around under her clothes. She had taken to telling people she was half-beastman, if they happened to notice it. Most people tended not to ask a whole lot of questions. Like if half-beastmen were common, or why both of her parents looked human. Heading outside, Konnie traveled to a small courtyard with a few trees, sitting in the shade of one. A few other familiar faces milled about, although Xandria had been absent the whole day. She ate, she shared a few words, but spent most of her lunch break on her phone. 

The young half-Saiyan yawned again. She hadn't slept much last night. Another little spat with her father about the usual topic. She'd even asked to practice on her own, in her room. Just to see if she liked it. But Okkoro had said no, and she needed to rant about it. Thankfully, she doubted anyone paid much attention to her blog, a little void for her to scream into. But she didn't bother checking on it right now. Right now, she saw a text from her mother.

Mom: Your father wants to know if you still want to go to that convention with your friends. Still some tickets left. Mom: I know its last minute but do you want to go?

A reply could wait. Konnie shook her head. He was trying to cheer her up. As stubborn as he could be, Okkoro couldn't help but coddle her a bit. Konnie supposed she couldn't complain, since she did want to go to that convention. But still, he knew she was upset, and he definitely knew why. So why couldn't he come clean? What was he scared of? Of her getting hurt? Or her getting into trouble? She couldn't tell. For all she knew, maybe he was afraid of both. 

But seriously, was it so much to ask? Konnie had even told him she'd be satisfied with a few straight answers about the Saiyans. How could he leave her hanging like this, refusing to tell her anything about her alien people? That couldn't be fair!

Konnie raised an eyebrow when she saw a message she didn't recognize. On her blog, nevertheless. Odd. She hoped it was nothing inflammatory. A new user, an unfamiliar name, and a simple message greeted the half-Saiyan.

monke: hello monke: are you a saiyan too kawaii-dipshit: Sorry, who is this? monke: my name is Maize monke: are you a saiyan

This couldn't be real. 

Konnie humored the conversation for a little. Longer than she usually would. How did someone notice that post? Out of everything to find, what were the chances of someone finding her quiet little blog and seeing that post in particular? She cringed when she read the word "Saiyan" in it. How could she be so dumb?! Even as she deleted the post, the stranger pressed on.

This had to be a trick. Someone was having a laugh. Especially when this came from a new account with an odd name. Going to the stranger's profile, Konnie nearly blocked them, seeing a message pop up at the last second before she could hit the red button.

monke: do you have a tail too

Hold up. This person knew Saiyans had tails.

Konnie lived all her life barely saying a word about her alien blood. She certainly didn't draw attention to her tail if she could help it. And as far as she knew, she and Okkoro were supposed to be the only Saiyans on Earth. And yet, this person knew Saiyans had tails. But no, she couldn't simply trust that right off the bat! Who knew who this person was behind the screen? If she'd learned anything, she'd learned not to trust strangers on the Internet. Even if they claimed to be an alien.

Konnie noticed she was running out of time. Lunch would be over in a few minutes. Asking a hasty question, she hoped the stranger would reply fast enough. And they did, immediately bringing up the Great Ape her father had always taught her to fear.

'They can control it?!' Konnie thought to herself, typing as fast as she could. 'Then my dad was wrong!'

It seemed like this person wanted to know more about Saiyans, too. Unlucky for them both, as Konnie knew next to nothing about them. Her knowledge stopped at the fact that they were aliens. Realizing lunch was all but over, Konnie sent a final reply before rushing back to class, knowing full well she'd be dwelling on this for the rest of the day.

kawaii-dipshit: Hey I have to get back to class. Maybe we can talk later? Where are you right now anyway? monke: it is called a library monke: i have never been to one before monke: it is quiet and i like it kawaii-dipshit: Alright how about this? Come back around noon tomorrow, that's when I have my lunch. We can talk about this more monke: i will come back tomorrow then monke: goodbye kawaii dipshit kawaii-dipshit:  Goodbye, Maize

#[oc] konnie sai #[oc] maize onigiri #[story] one shots v.1 #[au] spectrum verse #dbz #dbz fanfiction #dragon ball z #dragon ball z fanfiction #dragon ball #dbz oc #dbz ocs #fanfic #dragon ball oc #dragon ball z oc #dragon ball fanfiction #dragon ball fanfic #dbz fanfic

[namakehruk]

Excerpts from the Diary of Nadia Wingshadow

Good tidings, diary!

It’s been about twenty days since I left home, and about a dozen since I reached the topside. I haven’t written in you for most of it, but you can understand why! I’m on the surface!!! And not just up in a topside cave! Outside with the grass and the trees and the sky! It’s incredible!

I’ve had to keep my goggles on during the days, and with the tint on those, I can't say too much about how the sky or the plants look when it's bright, but the stars! My goodness, the stars! I’ll never forget when I first saw them for as long as I’ll live. Oh, and I knew the sun was bright, but I never knew it was so warm. I could just talk forever about the grass and dirt and the trees and how they all felt, but there’s still a lot of journey ahead, so I need to get done and get some rest. A good darkling lives on caution, and being tired won’t be any help with that, now would it?

Interacting with topsiders is a lot of work! Defaulting to common isn’t something I’m used to, and everyone seems to be on edge when they see that I’m this bundled up, so I’ve got to put in extra effort to seem trustworthy! Not that I don’t understand, most people look each other in the face when they talk, but there’s not much to be done about that. Most of them don’t shrivel up when the sun hits them! Just the vampires, hahaha. But back on track! I’ve just been telling people I’m traveling from afar, but I’m gonna have to start adjusting to topside manners if I want to smooth out future talks up here. First, learning greetings and such. So far I’ve heard “good morning”, “good evening”, and “good night”. It’ll probably be less awkward to just copy what I hear then try to ask what to use when. Oh! I’ll try practicing in here when I write to you! I might also try writing dates too. It’ll help me learn the calendar up here, and it’ll help keep you neat and tidy! How does that sound?

Last bit! A man in a wagon delivering beer and salt let me ride along with him. (A human man!! Isn’t that exciting??) It’s been about two days since we met, and he says it won’t be long until we hit the next town. Once we get there, we start the search! First, we get a map and find out where we are on it, then we go about planning our next steps. Ideally, somewhere with a lot of books. Interesting books! But we won’t say that second part! Can’t exactly lead off by asking after information on Her Lady of Summer! A good darkling lives on caution!

P.S. Maybe we should restock on food in town too… And find out how we’ll pay for it, for that matter…  Well, if it comes down to it, we’ll just have to work for our dinner!

#writing #nadia wingsadow #I wrote this! #starting to get back into writing #and maybe use this as an excuse to use the hellsite again #im making too many tags bc im nervous about sharing this

[en-amours]

「 enha going “ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad” — hcs 」

— 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴: requested by 🍓 anon! frankly, i don’t think this falls into the headcanons category bc they’re all bulletpoint scenarios (which is why this is a bit longer than the other one i wrote) :’> anyways, hope y’all enjoy, and sorry this took a bit longer than intended, hehe <3

— 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff, humor, angst in ni-ki’s part if you squint lol

♡ — taglist: @yoshinung @cyberhwng @stargirlstories @lovelycharm05 @honeyju

— 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1.9k

「 LEE HEESEUNG ! 」

listen, you love heeseung with all your heart. you would gladly give the world to him if he asked in a heartbeat; but if you have to sit through his aegyo one more time you will throw hands

it didn’t even agitate you the first time you saw his aegyo—in fact, you even found it endearing: you’d use it to clown him every time he’d ask for something

“oh? heedeungie wants a cookie, i hear?”

he does nothing bc he’s resigned himself to the fact that you and the boys would never live him down the moment he agreed to do it

but as he progressively got better and more comfortable practicing cute expressions, it became a “oh, how the turns have tabled” moment and he now uses it to clown you

he knows you hate it, too, so when he does aegyo he goes to the extreme—dignity be damned

so when you give him the blankest look the next time he pulls the cutesy card again, he laughs gently, puffing his cheeks out as he pokes his dimple

“hee,” you start, “do you plan on getting out of this relationship in one piece?”

but your boyfriend—being the absolute warrior he is—pays no heed to your tone and moves closer, your demise giving him all the joy he could possibly have. “why? i thought you loved heedeungie?”

not anymore, you don’t

before you can retort, heeseung grins at your expression. “ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad~”

when you go quiet he considers stopping the whole façade

then he feels your lips on his

haha, heartbeat go brrrrrrrr

mans is so 👏 damn 👏 flustered 👏 when you put your hand against his cheek

you pull away once you can feel his heartbeat beneath your fingertips; he’s rosy and breathless and he nearly loses his mind once he realizes you’re grinning

“so that’s what it takes to get you to stop… maybe you should do aegyo more often.”

——————

「 JAY PARK ! 」

“oh, gODDAMMIT QUIT IT WITH THE TURTLE SHELLS, JAY.”

“WHY DON’T YOU MAKE ME??”

this is what the rest of the members have to deal with every time jay has the nerve to ask you to play video games with him you’re both the reason why jungwon bought everyone a pair of earplugs each

your level of competitiveness skyrockets whenever it’s a duel (or even games where you’re both on the same team—it’s just a trial of who can outdo the other)

god forbid anyone who suggests card games on a sleepover (looking at you, jake; ni-ki still hasn’t forgiven him for suggesting uno when he was situated right between you and jay) because they’re in for a long time of ✨ suffering ✨

it’s an instinct for everyone to put one foot out the door when you and jay settle in front of the television

this match in mario kart, however, went a little ,,, differently

“i will crush you, jongseong,” you seethe, eyes blazing because it’s your third rematch and the tiebreaker and you don’t know what you’ll do if you end up losing.

“that’s what you said the last two games,” he scoffs, leaning forward in immense concentration.

“your yoshi character can suck it.”

“ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad.”

dude’s about to jump in ecstasy once he’s a few seconds away from the finish line at the third lap, but oh ho ho jay.gif has left the building once you kiss him on the cheek

literally freezes in shock for a solid ten seconds

in the span of which you took your chance to zoom past his avatar, thus winning the tiebreaker

looks at you, then at the screen, back to you again, then—

“WAIT THAT IS C H E A T I NG THAT DOESN’T COUNT WAIT WHAT—”

(he’s highkey vv flustered though; if you just got off your high horse and looked at him you’d have noticed how red he got)

——————

「 JAKE SHIM ! 」

ever since you told jake that you also weren’t able to attend your formal in the past, he’s been dead-set on asking you to a slow dance

you’d told him about it during your one of your many heart-to-heart talks, convos about fading memories from elementary and the anxiety-riddled nights in highschool, until it dwindled down to that

“i’m cool with it—formal is just an excuse to drain half of your college tuition for one night, anyway,” you’d said, but jake didn’t miss the way your eyes went softer in a haze of memories of what could’ve

so now you’re staring up at him, with his hand extended out to you, moon river playing in the background and jake’s smile has never been brighter

“you’re unbelievable,” you state.

“but you’re smiling anyway,” jake shrugs as he pulls you up, he places your hands on his shoulders gingerly, his own pair travelling down to hold your waist.

the next two minutes are spent in immeasurable laughter and half-hearted insults (“y/n, you’re a terrible dancer.” “says the dude who keeps on stepping on my toes every ten seconds, can you not—”); nevermind that there aren’t any cheap party lights blinding you, or your present classmates aren’t there to croon over who you were dancing with—in this tiny living room, all you can focus on is how it feels so right to have jake in your arms, and how this might be better than any formal you’d have attended.

your incredulous mask wears away, and jake dips his head to check with a grin. “aw, is my baby getting sentimental?”

you scoff, suppressing a smile. “mate, you’re the one who cries over layla at least five times a day. i hate you.”

“ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad,” he taunts, relishing the way you laugh in response. you do kiss him, on the nose, softly, before resting your head on his shoulder, holding him closer.

“shim jaeyun, you are one of the most cliché people i know,” you pull away to look at him, at his eyes twinkling softly beneath the light, and you smile. “but thank you for this. truly.”

jake laughs softly, presses a kiss to your forehead. “i wouldn’t have formal any other way than this.”

——————

「 PARK SUNGHOON ! 」

so,, uh,,, i may have gotten a tad bit too carried away with sunghoon’s so i wrote a separate drabble for him,,,, hehe

it’s called “loser (affectionately)” and you can find it right here!

did i base the title off the “twitter: hellsite (derogatory)” meme here on tumblr? yes. yes, i did.

do i also think the drabble’s way too fucking cheesy? also yes.

but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless </3

——————

「 KIM SUNOO ! 」

here’s another one that turned into a full-fledged drabble because i have no self-control </3

it’s titled “maybe the night” and you can find it right here!

i got soft listening to ben&ben again 😔 their music is so damn good hhhhhh

highly recommend them !!

(also while writing this i realized i have a soft spot for our ddeonu i love him sobs)

——————

「 YANG JUNGWON ! 」

you hated yang jungwon.

well, no, that’s a lie—let me rephrase that again: you hated yang jungwon for having absolutely no mercy on your wallet

as if you weren’t worn out from the sparring match in taekwondo earlier, your best friend had to go and put the weight of his pride on your shoulders; ambling around with a stance that says, i’m the best and this abnormally overpriced chocolate milk carton acquired from y/n’s demise is solid proof.

(you’re grateful for your friendship, but this is one of the times when you regret ever making the bet with him)

the blushing clouds mark the end of another day, and you sigh, pocketing your (very few) change grumpily. “i’m going to go blind if you keep on smiling like that, yang—tone the brightness down a notch.”

jungwon: no ❤️

you try and reason with him that it was because you had too many shit you had to deal with prior to the match, but the dimpled teen wouldn’t hear any of it (knowing that all of it is bluff, you’re a terrible liar)

“you know that was a one time thing, right?” you say, and jungwon mocks you la-la-la-you-lost and he skips across street like a kid does after school, “i’m gonna beat you next time—”

“ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad.”

he pokes your cheek and retracts quickly when you try to bite him. you glare at him, but the sun hits the side of your face so you end up squinting at him instead.

then he LAUGHS

(u know,,, the one where his eyes turn into crescent moons and his lil dimple shows? yea, that one)

and you’re just standing there like 🤠

you sigh, partially because you’ve seen him do this one too many times, and because you always fall victim to his charm, so you ruffle his hair and trudge on with the air of a fallen soldier

(dw jungwon holds your hand on the way home and gives you a piece of candy bc he loves you, too)

((you’re still beating his ass next time, though,,,))

——————

「 NI-KI ! 」

ni-ki wants to slam his head against a wall (≡^∇^≡)

(as, per usual, how every highschooler feels as they near the end of another laborious school day)

((but even more so in his case bc who the fuck blurts out “ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad” when they’re going against their crush in a debate when they can’t think of a effective counterargument?? ni-ki, apparently))

he didn’t even mean to say it; he was so caught up in the heat of the moment that all heed for whatever slipped through his teeth disappeared, and now the whole class is staring at him open-mouthed in equal parts shock and excitement.

but the worst thing is that you’re staring at him, too—with wide eyes and an expression he can’t read

“n-no, i didn’t mean— i— you…” ni-ki’s hands fly up wildly, his limited braincells trying to think of a way to weasel out of the situation (which is impossible now, it seems). “i’m…”

the teacher observing from the side, who’s been aware of ni-ki’s crush for some time: ᕕ[ ・ ▾ ・ ]ᕗ

heat flares in his cheeks and he looks down cursing you because screw you for being so beautiful and smart why did i have to like you i Hate this

…apparently he’s said that out loud too bc his classmates are losing their shit & he promptly wants to ✨ evaporate ✨

everyone is just “??!!” because they’ve been led to believe that y’all hated each other and now this???

“you… like me?” you squeak, ni-ki can’t bear to look at you and he feels remorse peeking in his chest like an old friend; he waits for rejection, or an insult, at the very least, but when he is met with silence he looks up to see that you’re just as frazzled as he is, and his heart leaps. “like… really like me?”

the answer hangs on his tongue, but the bell intervenes, and everyone collectively jumps. ni-ki is the first to dip. he returns to his seat, grabs his bag in one swift motion; the teacher stutters out the usual end-of-class statement out of habit, and with that the blond ambles out of the room with a bitter look, finishing what his sensei was supposed to say: point to y/n.

but if loverboy looked back at that moment, he might’ve seen you trying to fight back a smile, butterflies roaming your stomach; because you no longer have to pick at daisies, wondering he hates me, he hates me not.

#enhypennetwork #enhypenwriters #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen headcanons #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen drabbles #lee heeseung #jay park #jake shim #park sunghoon #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #ni-ki #this is a mess i know i’m sorry strawberry anon :’>

[princesssarcastia]

Just wanted to say I love your tag "the last great american queerbait" bc yeah. It really does feel like we'll never see this level of bait in a major media property again. Which is probably a good thing, but it makes spn all the more unique...

thank you! that's from @biggersons on this post here. excuse me while i now ramble about this bullshit

i'm sure someone else has said this before on this hellsite, but YES. supernatural is one of the last of a dying breed, certainly one of the most iconic. supernatural was thee CW show to end all CW shows before it was cool. one of the last shows with such a dichotomous fan base, with dudebros vibing with all supernatural's surface level masculinity and violence on one end, and queer people screaming into the void about intricate rituals dean creates to touch the skin of other men on the other. hell, it was one of the only popular shows on TV in 2020 that still did 22 episode seasons; certainly nearly the last sci-fi/fantasy shows to do it.

remember that post about the difference between queerbaiting, queer coding, and subtext? FOR 15 YEARS SUPERNATURAL DID ALL THREE SIMULTANEOUSLY. its a work of art. homophobic, homophobic art. also racist. and sexist. why am i enjoying this content again?

There were so many different writers and directors and showrunners and camera operators even, that you have:

the showrunners and the marketing gurus running a long-con advertising will-they-or-won't-they-(they won't) queerbait on the queer people screaming into the void because the execs want their money AND the dudebro money but hate the queer identity and the fact that they kept rubbing their queer little hands all over supernatural's manly man masculine characters...

the writers who Been Knew queer coding dean and cas and getting it under the homophobic execs' noses, to the delight of their queer audience...

and the writers who were just monkeys at typewriters churning out nonsense with moments of shakespeare who kept loading on more and more subtext that made the queer audience want to take them by the shoulders and shake their heads right off.

frankly given this mess the only person left who gets to speak with any authority is misha collins, which—

this combined to make a show that is near incomprehensible as a whole but can be sanely consumed in smaller chunks or through fanfiction that burns out the stupid stuff. There's NO way it makes sense if dean and cas aren't madly in love with each other. none. the plausible no-homo ship sailed in like season 7, or like the second time one of them watched the other die and grieved like a widower.

and yet. those dudebros, with allll their money and viewership, are still there. still watching. and so the CW tries to have its cake and eat it, too. for fifteen, fucking, years. because they fear the homophobic backlash if they just fucking commit.

they were too afraid that they would stop making something profitable to realize that they could have made a work of art, that they could have made HISTORY.

no one else will do it like them again. no one will ever even get the opportunity. i can't see anything ever again coming close to having the kind of cultural impact supernatural has, that weird mix of americana and masculinity and brief flashes of themes that make your breath catch and crave more. supernatural was a mirror of american culture in the best and the WORST way, and I don't know that TV creators have the range or the desire to ever reflect us back to ourselves like that again.

there are more explicitly queer shows now that are so much better and more heartfelt, with production teams that aren't remotely predatory. I adore them all! we need them! we deserve them! I want more of them! supernatural should not be a template for anyone ever because it was objectively terrible!

but their was something magical about the tentative hope in the air while it was still going, that little voice in the back of your mind that says, it's been fifteen years!, maybe it will grow beyond its origins, maybe they can learn from their mistakes, maybe they can reach for the happy ending that is right in front of their faces if only they would look past their prejudices long enough to see it. to see us. that's why the show blew up again in the fall of 2020, during the U.S. election, because on a meta level it was reflecting our culture and the moment back to us once again.

of course, in the grand american media tradition, they set that hope on fire. one last queerbait for the road.

so. yeah. its the last great american queerbait.

#supernatural #the last great american queerbait #american culture #queerbaiting #queer coding #subtext #something something trump vs. biden and our hopes for the future all getting mixed up until we really thought we had a chance #supernatural had its redemption right in front of it #and the show turned its nose up at it #god can you imagine how many of its sins we would have forgiven #for just one kiss #just in that last moment #what is that an extra ten minutes of shooting film? #THAT'S ALL #THAT'S HOW CLOSE THEY WERE #and they chose violence instead #and uhh #you know #something something the u.s. is at a similar turning point when it comes to racism in america and our history of racial violence #and whether or not we're going to address it #and here i am again #still hoping against hope

[someoneintheshadow456]

WE GOT ANOTHER ONE LADS

I think I may have come across another Fandom Frollo (aka - closet MAP who screeches at fiction and accuses everyone else of being sex offenders to cover their ass). First it was IHPAZ, then it was rasinrat, then it was the Twitter Purity Crusade CP ring (yes, that’s ACTUALLY a thing!), and now... I think I might have caught another one of these jokers in the act. 

Below the cut: TW for graphic language and descriptions of CSEM

What the hell kind of pedos has this person been seeing? Because they most certainly don’t use Disney villain style dialogues to groom their charges. If they did, there’s NO WAY they’d be able to successfully groom someone because nobody, even children, is stupid enough to go for a devil in plain sight. This is a trait I see of Fandom Frollos all the time – they assign these stupid, over-the-top fictional lines that NO real person would say unironically towards what they believe to be pedos. But they sound very creepy and strangely detailed… almost like they got off on writing that.

Blatant accusations with zero proof – another classic Fandom Frollo tactic. If I accuse everyone else of being pedos, then I’m clearly helping! Look at me protecting the kids! Look at me being wholesome and pure!!

Their response?

WTF?! What the fresh hell. NOBODY said anything about looking at children in such a disgusting way. That’s something YOU pulled out of your behind for some godforsaken reason. How does ANYONE look at “banning cartoons won’t help because pedos will be pedos whether cartoons exist or not” and think “ahh yes, this is saying CSEM is okay!” Also, AGAIN, note the very descriptive and graphic language of something they ostensibly are trying to fight against.  

Me: Banning cartoons won’t help. It’s like saying banning guns will stop murderers. The murderers will keep existing, they’ll just move on to knives instead. Comprehensive sex ed and self-defence courses for minors are the best way of stopping pedos. The young generation being armed and informed is always a pedo’s biggest weakness

This clown: Okay! Let’s NEVER do anything to stop pedos ever again!

Why do I have a feeling that’s EXACTLY what this person wants?

“I’m not an abuse apologist! I just think that we can blame the actions of rapists on fiction and that it’s totally okay to call rape victims gross for saying otherwise!”

Again, WHAT’S WITH THE HYPERFIXATION ON CHILD RAPE IN PARTICULAR?! If you’re so disgusted with the idea, why do you keep throwing those evil words around?!

There is ABSOLUTELY no way a person can be this ignorant – especially someone claiming to be a CSA survivor, regarding the use of religion in child grooming. But I gave them the benefit of doubt and explained anyway, and made it very clear that religion wasn’t to blame, it was EVIL PEOPLE twisting religion so they can use it as an excuse to be evil:

Their Galaxy Brained response, which is TOTALLY not a deflection from the shitty things they might be doing:

Ah yes – with THIS icon, there’s no way you could have found out what my race was! Obviously, my profile picture is SO WHITE that nobody could have just, well, CLICKED on it to see that I clearly wasn’t!! Do I need to make another DP with me in saree and a blatant red sniper dot on my forehead just to make things clearer for this hellsite?!  

Or how about THIS jackass response that proves, “yes, yes they ARE being intentionally obtuse”

Nobody – NOBODY who actually cares about CSA or abuse, will say something so vile when being confronted with examples of people twisting religion so that they can hurt children.

Yet another telltale sign of a fandom Frollo – a little TOO MUCH eagerness/sadistic glee from punishing pedophiles, and is WAY too vocal about their desire to hurt them. Hating pedos is the DEFAULT Sharon. You don’t get a cookie for basic decency! It reeks of “if I scream at the top of my lungs about how much I want to kill these people, nobody will know that I’m one of them!! I am very smart!!”

“Don’t teach kids how to identify a predator!! They could be ANYONE! Especially me!!”

Keep this in mind:

…for what they say next:

THEY HEARD – “PEOPLE AGAINST SEX ED TEND TO BE PEDO APOLOGISTS” AND ASSUMED I WAS TALKING ABOUT THEM.

Or how about THESE rather chilling accusations that seem to flow out of their mouth as easily as breathing?

A PSA – if you hear “sex ed” and think that it means showing minors pornography… maybe the problem lies with YOU. Maybe the one with a warped sense of sexuality is YOU. Maybe the one who is putting kids in danger is YOU. 

Them:

“How dare you call me a sex pest! I’m not a man, so I can’t be a sex pest!” – the calling card of all non-male sex pests EVERYWHERE.

If this creep comes to you, BLOCK THEIR ASS. It’s not clear if they have done anything yet, but they’re showing very dangerous signs.

#tw: csem mention #tw: csa #tw: graphic language #fandom frollos #fan pol #block and avoid #callout #anti anti #pro shipping

[janiedean]

Oh hey Lavi, for the anniversary prompt how about the following options: A) Rickon telling stories of things he experienced on Skagos (and why he doesn't ride horses and unicorns only) B) Sweet Robin recovering from Lysa's awful parenting, him and Sansa meeting as friends when they're both grown up. Enjoy the hellsite anniversary :3

AAAND EXTREMELY LATE *spins wheel*

--

buy me a coffee | commissions open

--

"Let me guess, we can give Lord Manderly's gift to Arya?"

Not that Lord Manderly will know either way and they do have an excuse - the mare he gifted to Rickon for his... supposed crowning is a truly wonder of a purebreed but she's barely been looked at and Jon supposes it would be a pity to waste her, but then again she is a tad too big to be ridden by a seven-year old... a regular seven-year old, but what Lord Manderly doesn't know won't hurt him.

"She can have it," Rickon shrugs as Jon follows him inside the stables where he's running his hands over the silky mane of... well.

His chosen ride.

A chosen ride that wasn't as huge when it arrived with him from Skaagos along with Osha, Lord Seaworth and a few other men plus Lord Manderly's fealty to Stannis, and good thing they managed to strike a proper agreement in between the whole lot of them, but now -

Now it's... something.

Jon imagines what would happen if someone was to ride it in a battle.

He's halfway sure it would be enough to half-win it.

"Humor me," he says, moving closer, wishing that - well. That a lot of things hadn't gone down since the last time they saw each other. No seven-year old should be this guarded, he thinks, and he's not going to blame Osha for having brought him in the only place no one would have looked for him, but still. If he's to be his regent, gods, Robb, why did you do it, but he knows why Robb did it and on one side he loves him for it, on the other he wonders what Catelyn Tully would think of it.

He has a feeling she didn't approve of that decision. Surely she approved of it less than his siblings, and for a moment he feels like crying, but -

Never mind.

"What's the difference? In between riding that and a horse," Jon adds when Rickon looks at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh," he replies, half-smiling, thinly, but still more than he did since Lord Seaworth brought him back, so - so that's fine, he supposes, "I could let you try." He considers. "But if you tried you wouldn't want to ride horses anymore and I don't think you want that."

"No," Jon shakes his head, "that wouldn't be convenient. But I still want to know."

Rickon looks back at the - at the unicorn in front of him, all black like Shaggydog, who is quietly growling as he huddles with Ghost in the corner, but - in an almost friendly way. And Ghost looks overjoyed to be reunited with his brother, so - good for them. It's large, and that mane looks silkier and shinier than a regular horse's, though it has harder eyes, Jon thinks, and the rough, huge corn sprouting from the middle of its forehead looks like it could impale a man or two.

"They're faster," Rickon finally says. "A lot. Sometimes it feels like you're flying, while they run. They gave me one a few days after we arrived."

"Did they?"

"Osha insisted," Rickon half-smiles. "That one died a while later, but it was old. It still ran faster than any other horse. Then I rode all the ones they had in her village. They gave me this one just before I left but they told me not to name her for a year."

"Why's that?"

"They say it brings bad luck," Rickon shrugs, "I don't know about that, but they'd know best, right?"

"Sure," Jon replies, "and how long do they live?"

"Oh, the first one I had was three hundred years old, they said."

Seven Hells. Does that mean they'll have a unicorn lingering in Winterfell for centuries, if she survives the Long Night? Well, Jon supposes, that can't be too bad.

"Good," he says, "she - she is impressive."

"I know," Rickon replies. "Not that Lord Manderly's was... well, bad. But she's not the same. And when I go inside her the way I do with Shaggy while riding it's just - a horse wouldn't be the same. It couldn't."

Ah, damn. He'll need to tell Rickon to not be so carefree with saying he can warg, and didn't he learn that lesson himself, but -

"I only can do it with Ghost," Jon replies quietly, "but I imagine it's... you see with her eyes, don't you?"

"Yes," Rickon nods, delighted, "and they can see so many colors, you wouldn't know."

Considering that when he's inside Ghost he can see less than he does as a human...

"I imagine it doesn't... compare with doing it with the wolves, does it?"

"Of course not!" He sounds almost outraged. "I mean, with Shaggy it's just different, but no, it's so many more than we do. And they shine so much."

"Maybe I'll go to Skaagos and get myself one then," Jon says, "wouldn't want to try with yours."

"Oh, there's so many of them, and you're friends with all the wildlings. They'd give you one for sure. I heard the other lords say they're bad but they're really not."

"People can be... stupid like that," Jon agrees, shuddering all over again. Understatement of the century, but maybe now that it's clear that they're facing impeding doom maybe they'll get over being prejudiced, he supposes. Maybe they can ask the Skaagosi to send them an army of unicorns. Now that would be interesting.

"I know," Rickon snorts, "I heard them say that they do all kinds of things on Skaagos, but they really don't."

"Like what? The, uh, -"

"Eating other people," Rickon replies with all the calm in the world, and what in the Seven Hells, Jon thinks, but then again didn't he and Robb get excited when as kids Old Nan would tell them stories about the Rat Cook and they were the same age? "Because they don't. I mean, they eat people's ashes after funerals but I don't think it's the same thing."

"They - do?"

Rickon nods. "They said it was so you could bring them with you or if they were good warriors you'd become as good as them."

"... Have you been to a lot funerals there?"

"Some," he says, "I mean, it was all old men, they burned the bodies under the heart trees and then ate the ashes at sundown. Then they'd have a feast in their honor that would go on all night. It was nice. Also they, like, they don't breed all of the unicorns. They capture them sometimes."

"Really," Jon shudders at the idea of taming a wild beast like the one in front of him. "And did you go with?"

"Osha brought me a few times with her friends. I didn't get close or anything but - I cheated."

"Oh, you cheated?"

"I said they could use Shaggy if they needed, but then I went inside him. I think Osha knew but she never said either way."

"It sounds... like you didn't hate it," Jon says slowly. Surely it sounds like he hates everyone staring at him like he's their last hope for House Stark to thrive more than he could ever hate being on Skaagos.

"It was... fun," Rickon admits, running his hand through the unicorn's mane again and again. "And people didn't talk to me weird."

"Weird how?" Jon asks, even if he suspect what the answer is.

Rickon shrugs. "Like I'm more important than you all are. Or like they expect me to... I don't know. To do your job already. Is it bad that I don't really want it?"

"Robb didn't want it," Jon says, "I don't particularly want it and Stannis Baratheon doesn't particularly want to rule the rest of the kingdoms regardless. I'd be worried if you did want it. And you won't have it for a very long time."

"Good," Rickon says. "I guess we couldn't... visit there again at some point?"

"Tell you what," Jon says, putting a hand on his shoulder, "after we deal with the wights we can - all just go there. Maybe we can leave Sansa to handle things here, I don't know if she'd like Skaagos, but - maybe we can go there and she can meet us at the Wall. Unless she wants to come and then she can, too."

Rickon grins back at him. "I'd like that."

Me, too, Jon thinks, and decides that if they get through this alive it's the damned first thing he's going to arrange.

Never mind that he thinks he does want one of those unicorns for himself.

#jon snow #rickon stark #cafeleningrad #my fic #ten years anniversary promptfest #OKAY SORRY FOR HOW LATE IT WAS i'm filling at random at this point

[bailey-whalieee]

Things Are Different Now.

WARNINGS- this chapter depicts gun violence, shootings, & murder. Please do not reader if you are triggered by any of that!! And please reach out if I forgot to add something!(also, this is not edited so beware) 

ONE

✮

In the Rogers-Barnes household they had three simple and easy rules, and usually Maggie had no problem following them, until now.

No parties: they can lead to misunderstandings and are usually unsafe.

Be honest, nothing you’ve done will ever make us love you any less.

Always stand up for what you believe in and never back down from a challenge. 

Her hands were entangled with her friend’s as they danced in somebody’s random kitchen filled sweaty, teenage bodies and alcohol. The haze of cannabis flavored clouds blurred the room adding to the vibe.

A loud laugh erupted from the both of them as they finally stopped the horrendous dancing and came back to their senses.

Maggie’s gut filled with shame the moment her phone buzzed and it was her father.

Daddio

having fun, kiddo??

10:37 pm

She huffed and groaned, “why did my parents have to make me such a guilt-filled child..?”

“Because Cap and Sarge are what you call helicopter parents, Maggs. You just gotta break the rules and not tell them, simple as that,” Emma snickered, watching the girl roll her eyes, “you know I’m true.”

Maggs-a-million

yes! love you and pops!

10:42 pm

Maggie and Emma had been best friends since they were in pre-school, and since then, they were practically inseparable. Either Emma was at the Rogers-Barnes household or Maggie was at the Anderson household. They spent vacations together, holidays, summer break, etc… If anything, Steve and Bucky felt as though they had adopted Emma too.

“C’mon! Let’s go get a drink, maybe that’ll loosen you up,” Emma suggested, winking.

She didn’t even want to be here. It didn’t feel right, something just didn’t settle right within her. Maggie didn’t break rules, there was always a reason rules were put into place so why break them.

Breaking the party rule and now Emma wanted her to drink, it overstepped way too many boundaries.

“Em, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why don’t we just go back to your house and eat the rest of the cheesecake?” she furrowed her eyebrow, stumbling as the other girl practically dragged her throughout the house.

She moaned turning on her heels, “oh c’mon, Maggie. You’re sixteen and you’ve never been to a party or even kissed a boy! Let alone had sex! Let loose, have some fun! You’re always uptight, why can’t you just have fun?”

Immediately, it was a blow to the chest. Maggie’s face dropped at her words, they stung like a smack across the cheek.

Emma covered her mouth regretting the words the moment they left her tongue, “wait, maggs- holy shit…”

“What Emma? What?” Maggie muttered, trying to keep the spite in her voice low.

And the moment the first bullet rang through the air, Maggie dived towards Emma pushing both of them to the ground.

Chaos expelled from the crowd within the four walled house. Fear overrode logic as the two tried to exit. Another shot fired. More screams. Then another shot. Cries and begs of help emitted.

“Do you wanna fucking die?! Get the fuck down!” the shooter shouted, aiming the gun all around the room.

Maggie crawled behind the island in the kitchen, finding refuge from the man. Panic arised in her chest after noticing Emma was no longer beside her and left vulnerable to the psycho. Her knees were tucked to her chest, trying to conceal as much of her as she could. “Awe! Is someone scared? Guess what, I don’t give a fuck, bye-bye!” the armed man smirked underneath the mask and pulled the trigger.

Maggie flinched, covering her ears to avoid hearing the awful pain filled screams and cries. Everything felt nightmarish. It didn’t feel real, the whole event didn’t feel real. She didn’t want to actually want to think this could happen.

“You know who did this? You all did. This is all your fault, all your fucking fault!”

The voice grew closer and closer to her. Heavy footsteps vibrated the flooring around her, making her heartstop within her chest. Maggie’s lips parted saying her final prayer, this was the end or so she thought.

Her eyes opened to find black cargo pants and heavy military grade boots, mocking her every being.

He chuckled, crouching down to her height. Maggie flinched and clenched her glassy eyes shut. This is the end. This is the end. This is the end. This is the end. Like a mantra playing over and over again, she awaited for the pain, for the bullet, but nothing came.

Nothing, but a leather covered hand wiping the fallen tear off her face.

“You were always super nice to me and look, it saved your life,” he sneered, patting her flushed cheeks softly, “also, be careful in the living room. Wouldn’t want you to step in some blood. Now leave.”

Maggie didn’t need to be told twice, and she didn’t really feel like sticking around to find out. The living room was an absolute bloodbath. Teenagers, her classmates, friends, people she grew up with, were lying dead on the carpeted flooring. Lifeless. Gone.

Her stomach churned unpleasantly at the site, but nonetheless she exited the hellsite. Emma had found her way out of the house, and stood by a street sign trying to keep herself together.

“Maggie? Maggie! Holy shit! Are you okay?” Emma’s hands found her shoulders, shaking them softly, “Maggs? Hey, can you hear me?”

She pushed herself out of her hands, shaking her head, “I'm fine..”

Maggie couldn’t think straight. The amount of blood that stained the carpets and their lifeless eyes staring up at her as she exited the house. And the military grade boots thumping against the tiling flooring as he got closer to her.

“Where the fuck are you going, Maggie?” She shouted, throwing her hands up in an exasperated motion.

“I… uh, I’m going home. I need to be alone right now. Please be safe, I love you Em,” Maggie turned around, answering the girl.

“Are you crazy? Maggie! Maggie for fucksake! It’s midnight! You are so damn infuriating!”

She didn’t listen to her ramble on about how bad of a friend she was, instead, Maggie ran. She ran until her lungs burned and the cramp in her side became unbearable and eventually, she spilled all the contents in her stomach on the pavement a couple feet from her home.

As if, Maggie spewing chunks on the walkway wasn’t suspicious enough, now she was about to walk through the door at eleven thirty-six pm. Perfect. Her two super-soldier for dad’s totally wouldn’t think any of it..

Her hand twisted the knob of the door open and walked through the threshold. Steve and Bucky were both half asleep on the couch when she walked in. Bucky practically smothering Steve’s body from laying completely on top of it.

They were only awakened because the AI system let them know that Maggie walked through the door. “Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, Miss. Maggie has arrived home,” JARVIS announced making her cringe.

Steve and Bucky flinched from the volume of the system, but turned their attention to their daughter who stood in the doorway as white as a sheet of paper.

“Maggie, sweetheart, what are you doing here? And how did you even get home?” Steve yawned, stretching, “I’m not upset with you, but a text would’ve been nice, doll. That way we could’ve come and gotcha’.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrow, “why are you so pale? You look like you’ve seen a ghost..”

Glancing down at the dirtied sneakers, Maggie struggled to come up with an excuse, “I got sick.. And Emma drove me here, sorry dad.”

Steve and Bucky’s faces fell and they rounded the couch to meet her in the doorway. “Awe, Maggs, what happened? Do you need something? I think we have theraflu in the cabinet?” Steve rambled, placing the back of his hand on the top of her head.

“No, no, no, just a little bug. Nothing too extreme, promise. I’m going to head to bed, okay?” she muttered, sighing.

“Okay, doll, goodnight and sweetest dreams,” Bucky gave a small smile before kissing the top of her head.

She nodded, hugging both of them bidding her goodnites and she ascended up the staircase. “Maggie, if something happened, please don’t be afraid to talk to us, angel. Nothing is too severe to stop us loving you, okay?” Steve reminded, lifting an eyebrow.

“I know dad, I know,” she nodded, almost whispering.

Tears pricked in her eyes when the door to her room finally shut. Violent sobs wracked her body, spilling down her cheeks and onto the pillow.

The worst part was knowing the fact she couldn’t even tell the people she loved the most, what had happened. If only she hadn’t gone, if only Emma settled for the night in instead of the night out, things would be different.

Maggie Rogers-Barnes learned that sometimes nightmares are actually people..  

✮

#Stucky x daughter!reader #stucky x reader #stucky #stucky x you #steve rogers x daughter!reader #steve x reader #steve x you #steve x oc #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x oc #agnst #trauma #avengers x reader

[bi-ressler]

Coming Home [RessGale]

@skiesfallithurts requested "Coming home + RessGale" for this ask meme (still taking prompts if you want to send something in! Could take me some time though due to real life)

Title: Coming Home Relationship: Julian Gale/Donald Ressler Characters: Julian Gale, Donald Ressler, Henry Prescott (mentioned), Raymond Reddington (mentioned), others (mentioned) Words: 10.891 Setting: Post-Prescott-Arc AU Warnings: Abuse of prescription meds (aka Donnie is back on oxy and I'm not even remotely sorry), sexual assault (non-explicit, but it's being discussed), homophobia very briefly mentioned A/N: I've had this idea in my head for literal ages and thanks to the prompt I'm finally doing it! So thanks for indulging me :D Also, this got away from me (again) and turned out way (WAAAAAY) longer than it should have. Oops! - - - As always, English isn't my first language, this isn't beta'd and all mistakes are mine. Feedback is greatly appreciated :) (Also, tumblr keeps fucking up the formatting, so if the sentence breaks up in the middle of the paragraph, blame hellsite dot com.)

[Read HERE on ao3!]

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Falling back into old habits and unhealthy coping-mechanisms is far too easy, Donald finds. But when everything crumbles around him, and all the poorly concealed cracks and insufficiently closed gaps and holes in his armour, in his life, finally give out and leave nothing but rubble and guilt and dread, it's the only way he can think of not to fall into complete despair and drown himself in self-pity.

But maybe he's already past that point.

Maybe this is what drowning actually feels like, and there's definitely no lack of self-pity on his behalf.

So he downs the pills with a swig of beer, ignoring the fact that this feels far too familiar, far too much like coming home after a storm, soaking wet and shaking to lay down on the warm carpet and breathe for the first time.

It was all a mistake.

The last six years, it was all one big mistake and right now, he'd give everything to go back in time, erase Reddington from his mind, never join that damned taskforce that had him spiralling to this point from day one. Hell, he'd go even further, never become an agent in the first place - maybe open up a coffee shop in Detroid or become a banker or lawyer or anything at all, as long as it's as far away from Reddington and this whole mess as possible.

That way, he'd never meet Henry Prescott. He'd never murder Laurel Hitchin. He'd never let down everyone in his life, most of all himself, and Audrey would still be alive, and Julian would still be with the bureau ---

Julian.

The guilt comes back full force, because if anyone didn't deserve the fate they got, it would be Julian. Hard working, fierce, loving Julian.

He dry-swallows another pill for good measure, shoulders his go-bag and disappears down an empty alley, unseen by cameras and cops and anyone who might recognize him.

He's not sure if he can go on like this.

He's been on the run for nearly a week now; a week of hiding, paranoia, always looking over his shoulder and ducking into the shadows. Where he once felt safe when he heard the siren of a police car, he now starts running. It's exhausting and he cowers lower into the corner of the abandoned building he's staying in tonight.

Another pill. The shivers lessen. The bottle is almost empty.

He leans his head back against the cold concrete and curses his need for justice, his stupid-ass decision of accepting this life as punishment for his actions.

No, that's not right, he thinks.

If he really was after justice, he wouldn't have run. He would have faced the consequences like a man, faced jail-time and public humiliation.

Instead, he'd been crushed by his own guilt after Prescott's death, written his confession with a shakey hand and left it on his desk, before grabbing the go-bag from the trunk of his car and running.

By morning Cooper must have found it, and in the afternoon he'd seen his face on the news. He has no idea where to go from here.

He pops another pill and curses when he reminds himself to cut back and save what little of the drugs he still has left.

---

The thing about guilt is, Ressler thinks, that despite what everyone says, it doesn't lessen over the years. He still feels guilty about ruining his brother's chance of a career as a cop, and he still feels guilty about Hitchin and Wright and Prescott and every crime Reddington committed right in front of his eyes.

He still feels guilty about what happened to Julian - the first time, after that operation in Kabul went so horribly wrong and Julian took the blame for it, both of them knowing full well that Ressler had been in charge and made the decision to fire, but being stubborn enough to convince IA that it had been his fault, handing over his badge and service weapon with an unreadable look towards Don. Maybe he did it out of some twisted sense of obligation. Maybe they were just in love and compromised. But in the end Ressler's decision had cost Julian his job and a civilian his life.

And the second time, after the whole mess with Mr. Kaplan, effectively ending Julian's career as nothing more but collateral damage. He can still feel his heart crack at that look of betrayal in Julian's eyes as they stood over the remains of Mako Tanida.

---

The other thing about guilt is that Donald doesn't know how to make amends. He knows how to follow his instincts and get himself deeper into trouble, deeper into the pit of guilt, deeper into unescapable situations. Making more and more excuses, trying to cover up all of his messes with lies that lead to more excuses, more lies, more damage.

He knows it's good that he does feel guilt in the first place. But there's only so much he can take.

He thinks about everyone he has left - Reddington, Keen, Aram, Cooper, Navabi.

He could go and find Reddington, ask him to get him out of this mess he created, but he still has some dignity left (he almost laughs at that, sitting in the dirt, close, so close again to withdrawal that his chest tightens, burdened with the undignity of all the actions that led him here). So Reddington is out. He'd only get him into some deeper shit, anyway, and he can't deal with that right now.

The taskforce is out, too. They're obligated to arrest him on sight. And after doing what he did (all the dirty work for Prescott that makes him shudder and swallow back bile), he wouldn't be able to look them in the eyes. They'd know. Another thing he can't deal with.

He can't go to his family, either; getting to Detroid would be a feat in itself, but no doubt the feds are just waiting for him to make contact with his mom or brother. He doesn't want to think about them; if he just so much as imagines his mom crying over the news of her little boy's fuck-up of a life he would only break the last remains of his heart.

Sighing, he realizes he's on his own and he closes his eyes against tears that don't come. His eyes are far too dry, and yet he feels like crying; maybe he's become too numb, but not numb enough to not care. He swallows against his dry throat, his fingers flexing around the pill bottle. He's out at sea alone, the storm raging and waves threatening to bring him down, and in the darkness, there's no lighthouse in sight, not even a candle in the window of someone who might take pity on him. He's bound to drown.

---

The next day, he runs out of pills as well as luck. He hears the shouting before seeing what's going on, and he doesn't need to round the corner to know that the cops are arresting his dealer; he hears his name. They're not after the poor sod for his arsenal of prescription-meds, they're after him. He turns around and doesn't stop running until his lungs burn and his feet ache.

---

He finally collapses behind an old factory that's been out of use seemingly forever. He vaguely remembers it from a case so many years ago, when everything was still fine and he still had dreams and hopes and Reddington hadn't crossed his way yet, Julian already by his side, Prescott a name he had no business knowing.

He remembers some nondescript arms dealers hunched over their merchandise, duffels with a ton of dollar bills and a short shoot-out that ended with the perps in cuffs and a brilliant smile from Julian. Although he couldn't see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses, he knew the twinkle in them that told him everything he needed to know.

How the fuck could he fuck up something so good?

It doesn't matter now, though. He slides down the rough walls, and a shiver rips from his spine, rocking his entire body, until it gets stuck in his hands and they can't stop trembling. Every movement hurts deep in his bones, and the shaking only makes it worse until he feels sick to his stomach and feels the bile rise.

He closes his eyes, and now the tears come.

He lets all the shame and hurt and fucking guilt wash over him, drown him until he is gasping for air, remembering --- remembering all the roads he shouldn't have taken, remembering every time he allowed Prescott to shove his dick down Donald's throat, the blood of some stranger still on their hands and clothes, and Ressler can't keep it in anymore. His stomach convulses and forces its few contents out, spattering on the dirty ground, acid in his aching throat that still remembers Prescott's assaults.

He remembers Prescott's laugh and the grip of his hand leaving bruises on his arms. He remembers burying bodies of people he knew nothing about, for a man who could be his downfall with no more effort than twitching a finger.

Ironic, how that still happened and Ressler has just reached rock-bottom while still having done everything Prescott had demanded. A fucking lose-lose-situation. Ressler would like to laugh about the stupidity of it all (of himself), but it gets stuck somewhere between his chest and vocal chords. He can never go back.

He'd always thought it would be Reddington who'd ruin him. He was wrong.

---

With the onsetting darkness comes the cold; it's the end of summer and the days are warm enough, but the nights take all the warmth and replace it with cruel emptiness and too many thoughts.

He remembers all the times their hunt for Reddington had gone wrong; all the times they'd run into another dead end; all the times an informant ended up dead --- all the times he would crawl into Julian's bed or Julian in his and they'd hold each other, seek solace and comfort and hope and the strength to move on in each other's arms.

He remembers Julian's lips on his and how, for these few moments, he'd want nothing more and could forget the job. He remembers skin on heated skin, and whispered platitudes that in that moment felt like a lifeline, and falling asleep with limbs entangled, sheltering him from nightmares and fatalistic thoughts.

He misses it. Misses it more than anything else, and it's the first time he acknowledges this feeling. He'd missed Julian for years; and then he was back again, back in that ice rink, looking at him like nothing had happened, like he still didn't blame Donald for all the shit that had happened. Maybe he really didn't. Maybe the guilt for all of that had been for nothing.

And then Julian was gone again and this time it would be irreversible. Like a lost limb, he feels his absence.

Shivering, he stares at the darkness around him, and all he wants is those strong arms around him and the scent of leather and aftershave and the scratch of Julian's stubble against his own.

He can never have that again. He doesn't deserve it, and Julian sure as Hell won't forgive him. Not for ending his career and certainly not for working with Reddington and turning a blind eye to the crimes he committed under their watch. He wouldn't even want to touch him again with all the dirt and blood on his hands from working for Prescott; wouldn't want to kiss the same lips that suffered the abuse of a ruthless killer and had swallowed it like he deserved it.

Because the truth is, maybe that's what his life has become: an unescapable, unforgivable Hell, all the pictures of what he'd done burned into his brain, behind his eyelids, on his skin where the bruises have long since faded but the dirt still remains. And maybe that's exactly what he deserves.

He crumbles under his thoughts until he lies on the ground, a shivering, hurting mess that's overflowing with guilt and self-loathing.

Julian always used to kiss it away.

---

How, when and why Donald has decided to walk up that road into the woods is lost on him.

He used to know this road, been here a few times but not in several years; it seems unchanged exept for the sky that looks a bit duller. He never walked this path before, but he didn't want to steal a car. Wouldn't know where to dump it here anyway.

He knows it's probably a dumb idea, but he's out of options by this point.

Every step is hard work and his knees are about ready to give out, shaking under the strain of carrying him for miles and miles, and even in the chilly shadows of the surrounding trees he's sweating like it's a hundred degrees out. Another shiver runs through his body that feels like it's crushing every bone on its way, and he moans as he gasps for breath.

He knows though if he stops he'll never get up again. He'll never reach the old cabin in the woods by that small lake, and he'd die by the side of the small, muddy road. He's not ready for that, though.

---

It's late afternoon when he gets off the main road and takes the small footpath that leads to the cabin in a few hundred yards. The sun is much hotter now and although he can feel her warmth on his skin, he feels cold and clammy and miserable, fighting shiver after shiver and losing hard.

All he wants to do is curl up into a tight ball and die, but he's not gonna give up, not now, even though he knows that he's making a massive mistake here, but he doesn't care. It's like he's too far gone to acknowledge that fact and all his common sense has left him along with the contents of his stomach last night; he can't shove it back and, frankly, what does it matter? He can't fall any deeper.

So he stumbles on, struggling over rocks and branches, his feet numb except for the occasional flare of pain that still reaches his brain and he can't quite manage to shut out.

Then it comes into sight and he breathes out, a pained, wheezing sound that makes his head spin, and suddenly he feels sick because he knows he has made the wrong decision; he should go. He should turn around and collapse by the road and wither away like a fallen leaf.

The cabin is still like he remembers it from years ago; it belonged to Julian's father before he'd died, a nice little place far out in the woods that's perfect for a weekend-trip. Julian used to tell him stories of coming here with his dad to fish and hunt, back in the day before everything had turned to shit between them, before he came out as gay and his father stopped talking to him altogether.

He knows Julian is here; he's seen the old Ford parked by the road close to the small footpath. He also knows he's not welcome, just as he knows that he won't have anything left if Julian rejects him and throws him back onto the street he came from.

Feeling his knees wobble, he pushes on before he can give in to the seducing urge to let himself fall to the ground and curl up to die. He can still do that afterwards.

Another few steps and he's around the cabin where he can see the small lake, a pond really, with the wooden terrace right by the water; on it stands a deserted deck chair, but the bottle of beer that sits right next to it is still half-full, so Julian must be back any minute.

He leans heavily on the wall of the cabin and feels his strength bleed away. A bead of sweat runs down his forehead and along his nose as he lets his head fall, the strain in his neck too much for his muscles to hold it up anymore. Catching his breath is difficult when his lungs don't want to take in any much needed air and his chest feels too tight, like the collar of his dirty white t-shirt is strangling him, and he raises a violently shaking hand to his chest, ignoring the creaking of his joints as he does so.

Shit, this is worse than he'd thought. The hand that isn't clutching his shirt automatically wanders towards his pants pocket. It's empty. Of course it's empty. He's out of pills. He panicks at that because how in the world is he supposed to survive ---

when he hears a gun cock and forces himself to look up into Julian's face.

He looks good - always does - and his stubble is almost a beard now; his hair has grown too and Donald just wants to breathe it in. He wears sunglasses (of course, it's still bright outside and his eyes are just so damn sensitive), and his brow is deeply furrowed, his mouth a thin line that tells Donald just how welcome he is here.

"Don?", he asks, voice raspy like he hasn't spoken in a long time. Maybe he hasn't, but Ressler isn't naïve enough to blame any emotion for the roughness.

"Hey", he says, and he feels the world sway from the effort of holding himself up, so he grabs for the wall again, temporarily borrowing stability from the wooden structure. He doesn't even want to know how awful he must look, all sweaty and dirty and miserable, shaking and fighting just to keep standing.

"What do you want?", Julian asks, words hard and the gun still pointed at Ressler.

He looks at Julian, helpless to say anything, devoid of all words, and he realizes he doesn't know how to answer that question. He opens his mouth in the hopes of being able to bring out anything at all when a shudder runs through his body, leaving him breathless and on the ground. For a second all he knows is the pain of too much and too little at the same time that grinds his bones to dust and cuts through his muscles effortlessly. He thinks he groans in pain, but can't tell over the static in his ears.

"Fuck", he hears at the edge of his consciousness, "Don!"

And when he looks up, Julian is gone from where he stood before, instead there are arms steadying him from face-planting into the muddy ground. He leans heavily into those arms that promise comfort and solace and strength.

"Julian", Don rasps out, and he looks up to see Julian close, so close, worry visible even behind the sunglasses, and he has to close his eyes as a rush of emotion threatens to overcome him. This is it. This is all he wanted.

"Don't talk now, okay? I'm callin' an ambulance." And that's wrong. He can't do that, Ressler can't go to the hospital, not when he's on every wanted-list in the city ---

"Don't", he whispers and swallows against the bile. Julian looks at him like he's lost his mind, but there's still so much worry. "Don't", Donald repeats. He doesn't know how else to communicate this.

"Okay", Julian says flatly, still sceptical. "You mind tellin' me though why the fuck you're here?"

Ressler looks away, tries to ignore the black dots that creep into his vision.

"I'm sorry", he says, and he means it. Hopes that Julian understands, because Ressler doesn't know if he has the strength or the words to really explain himself here. "I didn't know where else to go."

Julian just nods, waiting for him to continue while Donald shivers in his arms and doesn't know how to go on.

"I fucked up", he finally says, and Julian laughs at that; a humorless, dry laugh that settles itself deep into what's left of Don's bones, a laugh that sends waves of guilt through his chest. He looks to the ground and tries not to break down under the weight of it.

"Yeah, you did", Julian says and there's an edge to his voice that's dangerous and hurt and speaks of everything Ressler has put him through. "And I'm really fucking close to tell you to go to Hell."

His eyes burn holes into Donald's skin until he's sure that Julian must be able to see his insides now, the rotten flesh and the dirt and the blood and all the shame and guilt he's never gonna be able to wash away.

"Not gonna do that though. Seems like you're already there."

Don lets his head fall and at this point he can't tell sweat from tears or blood or vomit or dirt; it's all there on his skin, whether remembered or real he doesn't know. All he knows is that it's disgusting, he's disgusting, he's dirty and has done unforgivable things and yet Julian is still holding him up, still touching him --- His head drops and he closes his eyes against the spinning world.

"C'mon", Julian says quietly, "let's get you cleaned up. You look like you could need a drink too, something to eat. And then you're gonna tell me what's going on before I change my mind. You alright with that?"

Donald just nods. At least he thinks he does.

He feels Julian's grip tighten, and together they manage to get Donald on his feet; he sways unsteadily, but Julian's hands are still there, grounding him against the nausea, keeping him from falling over as he clenches his eyes shut against the wave of dizziness and pain that rips through him.

"Hey, wait", he blurts out when Julian nudges him to move. "You don't - you don't have to do this, Julian. I won't blame you if -", he takes a deep breath, trying to organize his blurry thoughts, "- if you... y'know. Wanna throw me out on the street. Let me rot."

Julian looks at him long and hard, his face unreadable, and Donald wonders when that changed. He used to be able to read him flawlessly, back in the day.

"I know", he says eventually, "and believe me, I have every reason to, but... let's just get inside 'n' sort this out, yeah?"

He nods.

The inside of the cabin looks exactly the way he remembers it from the few times Julian has taken him here. Cozy and warm, soft light through the small windows, wooden table in the middle of the room - with all kinds of stuff on it, bottles and tools and newspapers - surrounded by self-made wooden chairs; it's only one room, and in the corner is still the old bed with the worn through mattress that he remembers very vividly (it's softer than it looks, the pillows under his hips fluffy, the scent of whiskey from Julian's lips and resin from all around him filling his senses ---) Julian drags him to the bed; Don is glad that Julian keeps his hands on his shoulders for a few more moments. He doesn't trust his body to sit on its own and not fall over. He takes a few deep breaths - the smell of whiskey and resin still lingers in the cabin and if he closes his eyes, he might be able to pretend nothing has happened and he's back to when all was good. He doesn't close his eyes. Needs the punishment of seeing an older version of Julian and that glimmer in his eyes that betrays the cold anger he tries to project. In here, it's easier reading him. The sunglasses have landed on the table in the mixture of things, and breathing is just that much easier now. Funny how brown eyes can have that effect on him. Or maybe it's just Julian's eyes. "You okay? Or are ya gonna topple over as soon as I let go?", Julian asks. His hands burn where they touch Ressler's shoulders - even through the shirt - and he feels like their heat is spreading all the way through his arms, mending his broken bones with a painful grip that makes him gasp. "It's alright", he says. His voice sounds strange, somehow distorted and raw, and when Julian lifts his hands it's like ice fills all the places that were on fire just seconds before, crushing him, burning even worse. He bites his lip. "'Kay", Julian murmurs, and then he turns around to get a bottle of water and --- and he opens up one of the cabinets and pulls out a small, brownish-yellow pill bottle --- his heart is beating so fast now he thinks he might throw up, and every fibre in his body screams Want! Want! Want! --- his muscles pulling on him, willing him to move, to get to the pills, down them all, swallow them, no regrets, make the trembling stop and the sweating and the shivers, undo the damage to his body, unbreak his bones, untear his sinews --- His mouth falls open. He can already feel it: the texture and the form of the little white pill against his tongue, the short moment when he swallows, the high he's chasing - no, no, it's not that anymore, it's never been that; it's always been about numbing the pain until it wasn't, until it was just about avoiding the come down. But right now he can feel the high, the anticipation, being so close to victory --- "Don?" And he wants to tell Julian to shut up, to just give him the pills, but he's the one who holds the bottle, he has the power in this moment and fuck, Ressler would do everything, anything, get on his knees or on all fours and just take it (flashes of Prescott assault his mind at that, and he gasps audibly because Julian is not Prescott, far from it, and he just wants his brain to shut the fuck up, to stop, knowing the pills will do that, they'll fucking save him from his own thoughts) --- "Hey, man - what's going on?" It's Julian's voice again, so much nearer now, burning hot hands holding him together as Donald crumbles. He collapses like a frail burning building, the last beams that were holding it together now nothing more than a pyre of grief and lost hope. He trembles against Julian's chest, his hands clinging to Julian's shirt, hurting from the exhaustion of cramping around the scratchy material but unable to let go, his head tucked under Julian's chin where he crouches in front of Donald on the floor. He wants to cry or to scream or to lash out, but all the energy he has left is unfocused, is mainly the never ending chant of Want! Want! Want! beneath his skin. "Fuck", he grinds out, and it's the hardest thing for him right

now, but he has Julian's arms around him and can feel his lips in his hair and smell leather and aftershave and --- Julian hasn't let him go yet. He hasn't pushed him away yet; is still touching him, unafraid, not yet disgusted. Then again, he doesn't know what Donald has done. "Hey, hey", Julian breathes against Ressler's temple, "it's okay, Don, it's - it's alright. It's gonna be alright..." Don shakes his head, takes a stuttering breath. "It's not, it's -", he starts, and his hands shake so hard now he's afraid of hurting Julian, "it's all gone to shit, okay? Nothing's alright, and - it's all my fault. It's all my fault, Julian, just ---" He doesn't know what he's saying, only that he needs to get it out. He needs to let Julian know how sorry he is, how much he wishes he could go back and do it all differently, how much he wants Gale to be happy. "Easy", Julian whispers, and now his hands are stroking up and down Don's spine and he feels like a child, but also safer than he has in a long time. This, right here, is his shelter in the storm, a place to wait out the worst of it before he can go home. Only that he doesn't know where home is anymore. Not that it matters. He has his self-imposed punishment to serve. They sit there for a while, until Ressler's breathing is less ragged and his body is limp with exhaustion and his hands uncramp around Julian's shirt. "You need to drink something", Julian says, his voice far too soft, and somewhere deep inside of him Ressler just wants Julian to yell at him, to beat him, to show him exactly how he's felt the last couple of years. Let out all the anger and frustration and disgust he must be feeling. Add his loathing to the pyre burning away at Donald's insides. Julian shuffles away, keeping one steadying hand on Ressler's shoulder, the other reaching for the glass of water he must have put on the ground besides him when Donald collapsed. "Here", he murmurs and holds the glass up to Don's lips. Donald doesn't even try to take it from him, his trembling hands trapped between his thighs. The water is refreshing and he's sure he could drink an entire river - his mouth and throat aren't longer as dry, his heaving stomach slowly settles, his over-heated skin seems to cool a little. When the glass is empty, Julian sets it aside and takes a hard look at Don. "Better?", he asks. Behind the hard, cold glare his gaze is so open, so vulnerable now that Don has to look away. "Yeah", he nods. "Thanks." He doesn't know where Julian has put the pill bottle, but it's probably back in the cabinet. There's no way Julian could have misinterpreted Donald's behaviour. "So." Donald looks up again. He can still feel the sweat on his forehead, on his neck, chest, everywhere, but now it's cooler, and if the temperature keeps dropping as quickly he will surely freeze to death. He doesn't know though if it's the change of seasons or his own body. "Guess I owe you an explanation", Donald murmurs. He's tired suddenly, so tired he can feel it in his bones. Like he's two hundred years old, an ancient tree about to die. "You bet your ass you do." With that Julian gets up off the ground, refills the glass, sets it on the table and sits down next to Donald on the bed. He sits further away than he used to, the gap between them like a fucking canyon that Don could throw himself in to to break every bone in his body yet again, for the last time. He won't though. He owes Julian that much. "So?", Julian asks when the silence stretches too long. But Donald doesn't know where to start, doesn't even know what to say except for I'm sorry and forgive me and I love you. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry again, his heartbeat picking up its pace, beating uncomfortably against his too tight ribcage. "I'm sorry", he begins, and when he looks at Julian, his face is impassive and schooled. He expects more. Of course he does, Donald thinks, and he deserves it, deserves more, deserves everything. He's just not sure he can give that. "I ruined your life", he says. Looks down at his hands and how

they shake where they're trapped between his knees. "Again", he adds and the corner of his mouth twitches in a humorless attempt at a smile. "You should never have paid for what we - what I did. The whole Reddington-thing. I justified it with all the good we did, all the cases we solved, the criminals we put behind bars, but... you were right. The price was too high. It was doomed from the start... All the people who died, Julian, all those good people --- I don't know if it was worth it." He looks up into Julian's face. It's not as passive and unreadable as before; now there's a glint of pity, a tiny spark of anger, the smallest sign of resignation. "And - and to think I betrayed all my principles for that taskforce. All I ever stood for - wanted to stand for. Fuck, I'm... I just... I just wanna go back, Julian. I just wanna start over. Forget about - about Reddington and Prescott and Hitchin and - Audrey. Fuck, Audrey... I should have known then. I should have quit back then." He buries his face in his hands. There are no tears, but the shame that's crawling up his spine and spreading through every inch of his body is threatening to overwhelm him. "What happened to her?", Julian asks quietly, his voice impossibly soft. He knows about them. About their far too early engagement, about the stubbornness with which Donald had tried to love her just to get over the fact that Julian was gone from his life. About his need to prove that he was okay. "She's dead. She was killed. She'd still be alive if it wasn't for Reddington." "I'm sorry", Julian says after a moment of silence. He sounds genuine, even though Ressler knows how Julian feels about Audrey. Or used to feel, anyway. And now, Donald doesn't know what else to say. Knows there's so much, too much to talk about, but he doesn't know where to start. He wants to tell Julian about Hitchin and Prescott and those brief moments with Reddington - in the box and in a hotel room in Washington and the whole long flight from Munich back to the states. Donald takes a deep breath; it's not like that makes any difference because his lungs still seem incapable of taking in enough oxygen for him to survive. How he's still conscious, he doesn't know, but it's probably just his mind playing tricks with him. And all the while, Julian looks at him with patience that's bordering on resignation, and sadness he might be mistaking for grief about the people they could have been. The love they could have shared, the lives they could have lived. All those things Ressler never gave himself time to grieve for, but are returning with a vengeance now, cutting him up, sucking him dry, suffocating him in their thick reality. "I deserved it", he finally croaks, his voice strangled by everything he's lost, and he clears his throat. "Everything I got in the end, I deserved it." He stares at his hands that are trapped between his knees, feels them tremble, and when he looks back up at Julian, the other man is suddenly closer than he was before. The canyon between them is nothing more than a crack in the pavement now, their legs not yet touching, Julian's heat a welcome comfort against Don's clammy pale skin, and it still feels like it's not enough, like nothing he could do could ever be enough, and as much as he detests the thought that this might be the closest Julian will let himself get to Don, he also revels in the almost-touches and the dark gazes and the fact that this, too, is something he painfully deserves: the one person he never stopped loving to be entirely unreachable. He thinks back to the good times and how easy it was to just reach out and take any comfort he needed. The sleepless nights in those dingy motel rooms they spent staring out the window at the starry sky or at each other, the moments of warmth and solitude, bodies wrapped around each other like they're one, soft breath in his ear, dry lips on skin, rough fingers entangled, squeezing, comforting. Thinks back to that night in Manila, when Julian stood before Donald's door at three in the morning, dark bags under

his eyes, arms wrapped tightly around his chest to prevent him from falling apart; later it would be Don's arms holding him together. Thinks back to that morning in New York that should have been entirely unpleasant with the stink and the broken heater in the middle of January and the noise even so early, but with Julian's sleeping form next to him - so peaceful and full of beauty -, he wished it could always be like this. He doesn't think back to the time they said goodbye, or the time Julian almost died from a bullet in his stomach, or the countless times they sat at each other's hospital beds. He doesn't think about the last time they kissed, the last time they made love, the last time they hugged, the last time there wasn't this edge to Julian's voice that tells Donald that things will never be the same. He certainly doesn't think about the future. "And what is it you got? What is it you think you deserve? 'Cause I see you sitting here like, like death warmed over and I can't imagine what the Hell you could've done to deserve... well, this." Julian's voice is rougher than usual; Donald doesn't know if it's because of the emotion he swallows so successfully or because he's smoking more than he used to or because this is the first time in a long time that he's speaking to somebody. Donald draws in another sharp breath. His lungs aren't exactly cooperating, but it doesn't matter as long as he can still explain. "I think I need some air", he says, voice barely more than a whisper. He sees Julian nod out of the corner of his eye, and together they manage to walk outside. It's weird, a little, how much better he feels and how much easier it is to talk, to move, to breathe, ever since arriving in the cabin. Just a few hours ago he was almost certain he'd be dying in a ditch right about now. It's gotten dark outside; the sun hasn't disappeared fully yet, but through the trees that surround the cabin and the pond it's impossible to make out. Julian sits him down in the deck chair Donald had noticed earlier, the opened bottle of beer that's still sitting beside it now forgotten. Don takes a deep breath. It's easier now, out here. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Julian setting up a second chair next to the one Donald is sitting on. They both lean forward, elbows on their knees, Ressler's head hanging, Gale watching him with sharp eyes. Donald shakes his head; to think how easily all this could have been avoided! If he hadn't taken the job with the taskforce, none of this would have happened. Or if he'd been honest sooner, if he'd talked to Julian when the whole Mr. Kaplan-mess started instead of betraying him --- "That, right there, what you just said, is why I love you." He can still hear those words loud and clear in his head, recalling that moment with absolute clarity even if most of his other thoughts and memories are blurry from exhaustion and pain. The way they just came over Julian's lips, so simple, so easy, like they were picking up from where they'd left, still sends goosebumps over his arms and back; he remembers the painful tightening of his chest back then, and his mind going completely blank, and deciding to overplay his nerves with a lame joke and getting back to work as quickly as possible. He remembers hope bubbling up in the back of his ribcage, and laying awake that night overthinking those words. Overthinking the whole situation while pushing away his guilt. He hated lying to Julian then, and he hates where it has gotten him. He remembers cursing Julian's mind, always so quick and clever, and he remembers cursing Reddington time and time again. He purposely doesn't remember all the times he thought about the Concierge instead of Julian when he was alone in his bed. It feels like another betrayal all over again. And he remembers being on the verge of asking how much truth lay behind Julian's words more than once but always pulling back at the last second. Maybe he'll never know, now. "Don?" He remembers that he needs to talk. His mind feels almost bruised by the

onslaught of memories ever since he's seen Julian for the first time in so long. "Yeah. Sorry." He takes another deep breath, now easier out here, and leans back in his chair, tired eyes focusing on the patches of darkening skies through the crowns of the trees. A sense of tranquility fills his whole body and the shivers cease to shake him. "You were right about Mako Tanida. His head. Reddington - Reddington gave it to me as a gift." He closes his eyes for a second and sees the severed head in the box as if it happened yesterday instead of almost six years ago. He shudders and opens his eyes again, back to watching the gentle breeze shifting through the leaves and branches. He doesn't look over at Julian. "Some sort of... sick compensation for Audrey's death." He pauses at that, thinking back at Audrey and how he barely remembers her face now even though he knows he should. It gives Julian time to piece it together. He doesn't say a word though, intent on letting Donald speak. "It makes me sick now. But that's Reddington, you know? He lulls you in and there's nothing you can do about it. -- Objectively, I knew what we were doing, and I was justifying it with all the high-profile arrests we did. But... I don't know, man, he was under my skin and I only realized it when it was too late. He's like this... spider. Sucks you dry as soon as you're caught in his net. And it doesn't stop until someone worse comes along and ---" He stops speaking then, dropping his head, unable to find the words to convey Prescott's cruelty, his depravity that became Donald's own. A hand on his shoulder makes him look up; Julian is watching him, his gaze a strange mix between a cold distance and warm empathy. "What happened?", he asks. As if his hand doesn't burn Don's flesh where it touches him over his shirt, as if he doesn't know the repercussions of this gesture, as if he can't even imagine what it means to Don that he's touching him out of his own accord, not yet fleeing, not yet disgusted, but full of love and comfort and everything Donald doesn't deserve. They stay quiet for a short while, Don watching how the cold distance transforms to something new, something like pity, but not exactly. Maybe curiosity with a touch of sadness. Like he wants to hear the answer and doesn't. Like he wants to know what made Don come here but doesn't want to hear it. Like he knows it could change everything between them, all the anger he's been carrying with him since the ice rink-case melting away, leaving only the torn pieces of his old love. "Laurel Hitchin", Donald says quietly. Another shiver runs through his body as he feels Julian's hand falling away. They're silent again; Don trying to figure out how to confess a murder and all the shit that followed it, and Julian thinking about how Hitchin might as well have fired him. She may have been an awful person, but she didn't deserve to die. In Don's experience, there's no one who deserves to die; at least that used to be his opinion. He's not so sure about it now. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but that's where they stay. He can't push them over the edge, can't make his vocal chords work and his lips form the vowels and consonants. He tries in vain, again and again, until Julian is looking at him again like he knows Donald's struggle. "She's dead", Julian says, tone neutral, and Don can't read from it how much Julian knows or at least suspects. He nods. Remembers her laying on her kitchen floor, pool of blood growing larger second by sickening second. "I didn't mean to ---", he stammers, and Julian's eyes grow wide like he didn't expect this confession. "Shit", he breathes and rubs a hand over his face. It stops over his mouth and chin and he looks straight ahead into the darkness that has settled around them like their own private bubble where there's room for confessions and guilt and maybe even forgiveness; room that the bright sun of the day doesn't allow. "That's why you're such a mess? Jesus, Don,

I ---" But he doesn't continue. Donald doesn't want to hear another I'm sorry from Julian, and he doesn't want to hear that he's fucked up either. He just wants to forget. "It gets worse", he says and Julian looks up, surprise and pain and dread lining his features, and he suddenly looks much older than he is. Still beautiful, and Don has to swallow against the sudden feeling of belonging that rises in his chest; like he's home, like this has been his home all along, and it will be until they're old and grey and dying of old age in each others' arms --- only that it's a fantasy, a feverish dream he's having. Before Don can continue though, Julian stands up and disappears inside the cabin without another word. He can't blame him. With a sigh he stays where he is, watching the sky again that's now completely dark, and he doesn't know if he isn't actually watching the invisible dance of the trees. His mind is completely blank now and it's a more than welcome change. Before he knows it, Julian is back with two bottles of beer in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. Wordlessly, he gives one of the already opened bottles to Don who takes it with only slightly shaking hands, then sits back down, takes a gulp of beer, puts it down on the ground beside his chair, and takes a cigarette out of the pack. He offers one to Don but he declines with a shake of his head. The small flame of the lighter makes Julian's face flicker orange and yellow, the shadows making the lines on his forehead and around his eyes and mouth dance and seem deeper than in the light of day. For the few seconds it lasts, he looks almost angelic in a rough, strange way. "I called the cleaner who used to work for her", he says before he can think about it. "His name's Henry Prescott." The smell of burnt tobacco lulls him in, like they're back in Julian's old apartment, in his bed after an evening of slow sex, bliss and heavy limbs and soft words forever interlinked with it. It almost makes the bile that's threatening to rise after the mention of Prescott's name stay down. Julian's eyes are on him again, calmer now, but also more distanced than before. Don can barely make them out through the dark of night, but from experience he knows Gale won't say any more. He needs all the facts, and Don's the only one who can provide those. He looks back to where the lake must be, now an invisible black hole between the equally black woods. He thinks it must be easy now that he's started, but the words won't come, his mind preoccupied with keeping the images at bay, the memories of dead bodies and blood and the smell of bleach and ammonia. He closes his eyes for a minute, the shivers returning, rocking his body against his will, and he's going to be sick if the stink of chemicals doesn't leave his nose soon --- He wishes Julian would touch him again, ground him somehow like he used to, but he doesn't. Don doesn't look up either. He needs to carry on. "He found out who I was", he says eventually, strangled, struggling to keep talking. "Blackmailed me into working for him." He rubs his free hand over his face, pressing down over his eyes to get rid of the images and the smell, and for a moment it's like Julian isn't even there, like he's not listening, like Don can say anything he wants to the dark emptiness he's surrounded by. He takes a few gulps of the beer but doesn't set it down. "Fuck, I --- the things I did. The shit I was forced to do and I, I didn't even fight it. I was too afraid to - I don't know, lose my job, my reputation, my friends", it breaks out of him now, and a laugh forces its way through his constricted throat at the irony of the words. He feels Julian shift next to him, reminding Don of his presence, but he doesn't turn to look at him. "I did every fucking thing he told me to. Drove around dead bodies in car trunks. Buried and unburied them. Scrubbed blood off walls and carpets and beds. --- How the fuck can anyone forgive me for that? How can you?" He takes another large sip of the beer, now risking a glance at

Julian. His cigarette has almost burnt down completely, leaving a tail of ash threatening to fall onto Julian's lap; he hasn't taken a drag since Don has started speaking. Instead he's looking at Donald, almost staring through him, and Don doesn't know what to make of that. He doesn't think he's ever seen that expression on Julian. "I should never have come", he says curtly because he can't face the silence now. "I'm sorry. I should never have -- I guess I know now that I deserved it." The calm that settles in his bones surprises him. He looks back up to the sky, clear and beautiful where it shines through the trees, and now he can make out tiny bright dots, stars spattered across it like the splashes of watercolor over paper when he was a kid. He can feel tears behind his eyes and he knows this is the last time he will be home. Knows it's the last time he gets to feel something other than guilt and dread. Maybe he should get up and leave now, having done enough damage as it is, but something inside him urges him to stay, to tell Julian the whole truth, make him understand. He needs Julian to tell him to fuck off; needs his rejection to be at peace and go home. Somewhere, anyway. "He didn't stop there", he says, and he knows it's his only chance to ever articulate it; if he doesn't say it now he'll be silent forever. Besides him, Julian tenses. He's been tense for the last couple of minutes, but now his back is straight in a way that it almost never is, but Donald needs to get those next few words out. He feels strangely detached from his body and mind and memories. "Sometimes he would force me on my knees, make me suck him off", he starts, and it's easier to say it out loud than it should be, "and sometimes he would bend me over the hood of the car or tie me to the bed post in whatever hotel he'd stay in. I took it every time. I thought I didn't have a choice." And he's smiling now, the weight on his shoulders, his lungs, his mind so much lighter, and he doesn't even mind the trembling of his hands, of his whole body. He just lets it happen. "Until my conscience finally made me put a stop to it. I arrested him. Wrote my confession. And left. But I'm still too much of a coward to face the consequences, instead I'm running from everything." He lets his head fall. This shouldn't be this easy, he tells himself, but then again, with Julian nothing is as it should be. "Swallowing one pill after the other, sleeping in the mud, always looking over my shoulder. That's no life. That's - that's Hell, Julian." Finally, he looks back at his old love, a flood of emotions racing through him like a tsunami, and he chokes out: "I deserve it. All of it. What Prescott did to me. I gotta live with it. I'm ---" But the words die on his lips as he feels Julian's arms around his neck, and hot breath against his ear, and fingers tangling in his hair. He stops breathing for a few seconds, brain catching up with the sensations, and Julian is embracing him like he knows it's the last time, or like he's sorry, or like his life depends on it. "Just so you know", Julian rasps against Don's cheek, "I really fucking want to punch you right now. I wanna - wanna throw you against the wall and just - punch you until I can't move my arm anymore. Okay? Got that?" Donald nods silently, still stunned by the sudden embrace. He didn't think Julian would ever want to touch him again, wouldn't even want to be near him again. "No one", Julian says, "No one - deserves shit like that." And then he stammers like he wants to say every word he knows at the same time while simultaneously not knowing what to say altogether, before giving up with a hissed "Fuck". Don knows this, knows that sometimes, Julian's brain is faster than his mouth, and then he stumbles over words like an excited child. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with you, huh?", he asks quietly, still not letting go, and now Don puts the bottle down and returns the embrace. Carefully, very carefully, like he might freak Julian out, like he might realize then what he's doing and

drop Donald like a hot potato. Donald shakes his head no; doesn't want to be dropped, not now, not when he's this close to Julian; shakes his head because he doesn't know what he's supposed to do now either. The idea that's been in the back of his head, whose existence he completely ignored until now, that's probably the reason he came here in the first place, creeps into his consciousness now, and his grip around Julian's ribs tightens. "I just--- wanted to apologize for everything I did to you. I ruined your career, your life. I lied to you, I betrayed you. And I'm so sorry, Julian, I'm - I'm so fucking sorry." He loosens his grip again so he can look at Julian who looks up. His eyes are wet and dark and so damn beautiful, and now they're only inches apart. He could kiss him now, ruin everything all over again for a short moment of bliss, but he doesn't. "Me too", Julian says quietly, and his voice is soft like torn velvet. "I wish you wouldn't have come here. Let me keep my anger. But I guess you have this way of making me forgive everything you do. You're impossible, Don, you know that and I, just, hate you so, so much right now, I fucking - I hate you so much ---" "I know", Don whispers against Julian's cheek as their faces are pressed together, stubble against stubble, words escaping them that neither of them hears, lips against skin, not exactly kissing, but mouthing apologies and curses that get lost in the night. "I was so angry for so long, thinking about you, and the shit you did, the - the way it had to end", Julian rasps, tension falling off his body, too tired to keep on shivering. "I kept asking myself why the fuck you'd work with him --- how you could stand looking Reddington in the eye day after day and not - not see all that he cost us. Except I realised you did see, and you just didn't care." "Julian, I ---", he interrupts, but Julian keeps talking. "And I took that as justification to curse you and to hate you, and I did, you know, I really did, but... then I realised it was Reddington and I -- I chalked you up as just another casualty, another person he ruined, because you - you might just as well have been dead, you know? I fucking buried you." Julian chokes a little at that, but his grip at the back of Don's head doesn't weaken. "I know him, Don, I, uh, I know how he is. How he will put you under his spell and pull you in and never let go. Just... Just tell me this." And he looks up again, eyes red rimmed even in the darkness, and Don wants nothing more than to kiss those tears away, but he can't. He owes Julian, and even though he doesn't know what he wants to ask, he knows he needs to give an honest answer. No more lies. No more. Julian's searching his face and seems to have found what he's been looking for when he finally speaks up again after long moments of silence. "Did you love him?" The question should surprise Donald. It doesn't. He looks down, unable to meet Julian's unrelenting gaze. Thinks back to the box and the hotel room in Washington and the flight from Munich back to the states. Slowly, without looking up, he nods. No more lies. Here it comes. "Yeah", he says quietly even though he knows Julian has seen his nod. "I did. But never like I loved you." The words just come, mindlessly spilling over his lips, and he means them; he still doesn't look up. Doesn't want to see the disgust and rejection in Julian's eyes. The moment stretches like someone stopped time, stopped the entire universe, and Donald doesn't mind one bit. If it means having this last moment with Julian, even if it's filled with uncertainty, he'll gladly spend eternity frozen in time like this. Julian's fingers are still in his hair, his gaze still focussed on Donald. He's still though, not moving, and if it wasn't for his heavy breath, Don would have thought Julian might really be frozen. Then the moment ends. "Okay", Julian says, simple but heavy, like this truth lifted some weight off of him that Donald didn't know Julian was carrying. He looks up now, unable to keep his

gaze away any longer, and he doesn't know what to make of Julian's expression. There's no disgust. There's no rejection. There's understanding and sadness locked away in the tears that are sticking to his eyelashes, shimmering in the pale light of the moon that's slowly beginning to shine through the trees. Donald doesn't understand it; Julian is supposed to be upset, angry, pushing him away, throwing him out on the street to rot --- not drawing soothing circles over the back of his head, not looking at him like that, like they can fix this, like Donald is finally home --- "I'm, uh... I'm going to the police. Tonight. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. My sad attempt to make things right." He has to look away again, Julian's focussed, open gaze too much for him. "Guess I couldn't... leave without having told you. And I'm - I'm not asking for forgiveness here. I know I can never have that. I just needed to see you. Make sure you're alright, so..." He clears his throat, realizing that they've only been talking about him and never once about Julian. Fuck, how egoistic can he be! "How're you doing?", he asks, and Julian is still clinging to him, just as he's clinging to Julian. "Oh, I'm fine", Julian laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Julian -", Donald starts. He doesn't need his bullshit now. "Really, Don, things couldn't be better. I've read that in my horoscope." He still smiles, a little crooked like he's holding something back, something big, and now Ressler's hand comes up to cup Julian's face. Again, the thought of just kissing him comes to mind, but they're so fragile, both of them, it would only leave them shattered for good. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke the thick stubble and he doesn't say a word. Julian closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, and for a few precious moments, Donald can pretend they're happy. "Stay", Julian says and Donald freezes. Thinks he must have misheard Julian, who looks up now from where he kneels in front of Don's chair, his own hand leaving the blonde hair to rest at Don's jaw. "What?", he asks. It's more of a breath though, no sound escaping his lips. "I'm - yeah, I'm fucking pissed at you right now, but all of this... it - it doesn't change anything. Y'know, I still mean it." And they're so close still, and Donald has lost track of what's happening, and confused, he shakes his head. "What do you mean?", he asks. "Trondheim. Remember that?" He does. It was the beginning of March and so cold even the hotel room in New York with the broken heater seemed like a tropical vacation in comparison. It wasn't the first time they said I love you, but it was the first time they talked about the future. Before, they would stay in the moment, too afraid of letting go, of losing the other over naïve fantasies of a life together. That night though, they didn't need to be scared. "Whatever happens", Julian said, "I'll never walk away. How could I, huh? Guess I'm too far gone." He smiled, and so did Donald, pressing a kiss to Julian's collarbone. "Fifty years from now", Julian continued, "I'll still think of you. Every fucking day." That earned him a kiss on the lips, chaste and innocent and full of love like they've never experienced before. "Don't matter if you're still with me or not. You don't forget the love of your life, Donnie. I won't forget. Not us. Not this. Never. I could never let you go. Ever." But back then, Julian couldn't have imagined where they would end up one day. "It was different back then", Don says. Not because he doesn't want Julian's words to be true, but because he doesn't think himself worth them. "Yeah, it was", Julian answers, "but tell me you don't feel it still. Tell me, Donnie, and I'll let you go." Donald's answer is silence because, yes, of course he still feels it, that love that's deeper than any feeling he's ever known, deeper even than the shame and guilt and pain of the recent months, years, but doesn't Julian know that it's pointless? That Don's life is over? The silence stretches on and he can't hold

Julian's gaze. "I know", Julian says, "I know." And those words are enough to set him free, to liberate him from his cage of anger and self-pity and guilt and self-imposed punishment - he knows those won't go away anytime soon, but he still feels like breaking down, mercy too much to handle when he knows he's undeserving of forgiveness. He lets his head fall, knowing Julians hands are there to steady him. They do, cradling him like a newborn child, and in a way that might be true: maybe, somehow, this can be a new life, a new start for him; a clean slate. Maybe now, he can forget all of it, all the shit that happened, the person he was - the person he was forced to become --- maybe this is the one chance in life for rebirth. "I'm a mess", he says. "I know", Julian answers. "We can figure it out. Together." "You deserve better." "Shut it now, Donnie. I think I know best what I deserve, huh? I've given up everything for you, y'know, twice. You know what I think it is I deserve? Hm? What we deserve?" Donald looks up, feeling Julian's breath against his lips as much as the intensity of his gaze, those brown eyes so familiar in their depth it makes his heart ache. He wants to answer, say something, anything at all, but no words will leave his lips. He feels trapped there between Julian's closeness and the chair, but there's no place he'd rather be. He holds Julian's gaze for a few moments before shaking his head. "Peace, Donnie. I think we deserve peace after all this. Just a little, don't you think?" And that sounds good, far too good to be true, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. "Yeah", he says finally, voice constricting, "I want that. I want that, Julian." A smile is still tugging at the corners of his mouth when Julian kisses him, slow and unsure and not at all like the many kisses they used to share; it's like a first kiss, a promise for an uncertain future, a vow to try. To give it time and let wounds heal - they're all they have, after all. "You're not going to the police", Julian says as they part. "We will figure this out. Get you clean. And in fifty years we'll still be here, okay, I won't lose you again, I couldn't, couldn't bury you again, I'll ---" And as Donald kisses the doubts and fears away, for the first time in years he has the feeling that everything might turn out okay; that he might be deserving of happiness after all. That finally, finally he's home. _______________________________________

#the blacklist #donald ressler #julian gale #tbl fanfiction #mine #coming home #long post #(under the cut)

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 292

Breakdown/The Doctor Falls

“Breakdown”

Plot Description: when Donna’s niece is attacked and kidnapped, Sam and Dean help track her down, and in the process discover a very sinister operation

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: right off the bat, it doesn’t look promising. You could not get me to stop at that rest stop. Nah, I’ve got AAA, I’m not getting out of the car, I’m ok

(Megumi is trying to attack my phone screen or locking my glasses at every turn so this could take a while)

Poor Donna. First everything that happened last episode, now this

Oh. When that guy said family reunion, he meant when the remaining women of spn rescued the boys

I get what Sam is saying, but Dean’s right. They can’t leave even if it means potentially attracting the attention of the real fbi again

Dean’s such a good big brother though trying to cheer up and reassure Sammy

This dude is so freaking creepy, Megumi’s scared of him too

Donna’s good at being a cop (derogatory). It’s so disappointing how many characters are cops

I don’t necessarily believe this pastor they brought in but the cashier who told Donna’s niece to smile more is too obvious. I also don’t think it was the long haired guy…maybe.

This is too regular horror for me.

Oh the cashier IS involved. He calls the sicko auctioning off human body parts to monsters as food when he finds someone he thinks no one will miss. I hate him. I hated him before, but this is a new level

I’m so mad Charlie’s dead at a time like this. She’d be able to crack where this dude broadcasts from

(What if it’s Ketch? I don’t think it is, but I could see him using people………………….WHAT IF IT IS THE FBI AGENT?!?! It’s not because he’s with Sam but how sick would that be?)

THE CASHIER IS A VAMPIRE???

WAIT!! The FBI agent IS in on it?

I can’t believe I was right about the FBI agent, but who is the guy in the mask?

(Oh. Right, they’re trying to auction off Sam now. I dunno what part of him went for $5k but that’s not bad)

Goddamn $500k for Sam’s heart

Ah yes, the good old pan away from the gun that’s supposed to be shot only to reveal that the monster got shot by one of the boys (obviously Dean in this case)

Poor Doug is so freaked out about having been a vampire got a couple hours, are he and Donna about to break up? ☹️

Oh, Sammy. The boys really do just trade off who’s lost all hope

“The Doctor Falls”

Plot Description: The Doctor makes a final stand against an army of cybermen

These cybermen scarecrows are reminding me that we never found out who was under the mask in spn…guess it didn’t matter

I knew Missy wanting to be good was too good to be true……but she did seem surprised when Simm!Master came back. She’s probably seizing the opportunity. It’s easy to fall back into old habits

Oh. Shit. That’s either really smart or really stupid, expanding the definition of humanity to include brings with two hearts

She’s such an opportunist. I love her

Bill’s heart is still in there 😭😭😭

Excuse me?? Bill’s just…back now?? Not mad about it. Just…I can’t tell if she looks like herself or if they’re hiding that she still has the facade of a cyberman (ok. It was the latter. I figured as much)

Tell her the truth Doctor (I hate that both Bill and Danny got turned into cybermen)

I’m so mad that this is how it’s going. Bill deserves so much better than this. I’m pretty disengaged despite regeneration coming and Simm!Master being here

Is it time for Missy and the Master to be heroic? And go get his TARDIS? So maybe they can also get the Doctor’s?

The tension between the two Masters is funny because they’re constantly trying to answer the “would you fuck your clone?” post

Twelve’s speeches are always so good, and him pleading with the Masters to just do the right thing this time is so heart wrenching

The fact that Simm!Master completely ignored everything the Doctor just said is even more heartbreaking for Twelve (but that’s just who that character is)…but now it falls to Missy

“Stand with me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted” “Me too, but no. Sorry.” 😭😭😭 they want me to cry myself to sleep tonight do they??

Noooooooo. The Doctor charging Nardole with the safety of everyone on this ship and their evacuation from this floor while he stays (and Bill stays) to blow the whole floor up

I know Missy just betrayed the Master but I cannot tell what she actually did. She poison him?? So he’d regenerate into her converging the timeline so she could go help the Doctor

NO!! He shot her in the back, and in some weird way that should prevent her from regenerating (but we all know she will)

Twelve will never know she was going to come back 😭

It’s starting!! He’s regenerating!!

Good lord, how did he survive that blast? The short answer is he didn’t, but that should have instantly killed him

EXCUSE ME?! The girl from the puddle……..oh. No. I’m so confused. Bill’s no longer in the cyberman armor and the girl from her first episode is back but how is Bill not dead, IS she dead? It appears to be some kind of almost limbo state that’s just this side of actual living, but they do get to be together so I guess that’s nice.

Has there been a lot of melodrama this episode? Yes, but I’m really curious if Moffat can stick the landing

Twelve’s hair is so floofy I love it…oh, he stopped his regeneration. He has spent a LONG long time being Twelve. He spent two BILLION years in that prison in his confession disc thingy. I know he’ll say he’s only like 2000 years old or whatever but you can’t discount all that

Baby, it’s time. It’s regeneration time. Or not. Looks like we’ll get that next time. That said, Walter Frey as the Doctor is definitely something that requires getting used to. He definitely looks the part but all I can think is that he orchestrated the red wedding

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023